Lovesick Toxicity
by writingcupcake
Summary: Elena's life completely changed when she was just thirteen years old. Five years later, at the start of her senior year, she accused the star football player of assault. The football-loving town and high school have turned against her while the star player is under investigation. At the center of her bullying, the King of Mystic Falls High: Damon, who just returned from rehab.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

My feet pounded the pavement, my legs carrying me as far and as fast as I could go for the last few miles of my run. The August moonlight helps light my path and provides me with the company I needed at three in the morning. I'm not alone because at this very moment someone had to be looking at the same moon. Maybe at a different angle and maybe out of their bedroom window seeking solace. Moon and music are best friends for lonely souls. Isn't that the saying?

I turn up the volume to Typhoon's, _Prosthetic Love_ and let the staccato of beats match my stride. I run past mansions with groomed sloping lawns, lights out in all the windows. Night's net of stars providing the security and comfort that only the wealthy could feel. Children tucked safely in their beds. Parents sleeping side by side. Alarm set for five; enough time to have breakfast with the family before dropping the kids off at school. The mom probably does pilates or takes a spin class before getting coffee with her friends. She makes sure her kids have a homemade lunch and writes notes on the napkins. I love you. You are talented. You are strong. Or some other bullshit like that. Something to give her kids an inflated sense of self, the sort of inflated sense of self that bullies kids who don't have lunch.

I take a sharp right and sprint. Houses get progressively smaller. Yards less green, fewer flowers more weeds. Kitchen lights on. Just getting home from work or from lack of sleep. Furniture on the front lawn, littered with cigarette burns. A bird fountain that looks like it spends more time as an ashtray.

I run faster. My mom didn't come home last night. If I turn right and go home, she may be there. There might be someone with her. She could be passed out on the couch, infomercials providing background noise: _Slap-Chop_, buy now and get one free. She could also not be home and I'm not sure which scenario is worse.

I pass cars parked on front lawns and stop in front of a wire gate. A yellow ribbon still adorns our turquoise front door. Reminding us to never forget. Can't forget with a fucking ribbon staring at my face every single fucking time I go home. If you asked me five years ago if I'd be living in a two-bedroom track house with chipped stucco siding, a turquoise aluminum door and bars on the windows in South Mystic Falls, I would've laughed in your face. Maybe even punched you in the throat. The prominent and beloved Doctor Gilbert's family, the picture of family values, live anywhere but their perfect white house with a wrap around porch? Crazy. It just goes to show you how much can change in five years.

I turn off my music, open the gate, scan the house for lights or any sign of life, take out my key and open the front door. The house is dark; I trip over something on the floor and land with a thud on my hands and knees. Cursing myself, I pray my noise goes undetected. That's when I see the jeans, the panties, the bra, the boxers, creating a path to my mom's room. I hear moaning and grunting. The house smells like weed and sex. I turn my music back on, stand up, lock the front door, and hopping over my mom's purse strewn across the floor, run to my room. I lock my bedroom door.

In the light of the moon, a picture of me wearing big goofy heart-shaped red sunglasses at the beach catches my eye. Jeremy has his arm around my shoulder. We're kneeling proudly above a sand castle we built together. Actually, it wasn't a castle but our house, with its wraparound porch. Twigs stuck in the sand represent tall oak trees we used to climb. We spent hours making it just right. My dad took the picture. So fucking perfect. A house built of sand, easily destroyed by the smallest of waves. I pick up the framed photo and toss it against the wall. It creates a dent in the drywall and falls to the ground with a clatter. I don't bother picking up the broken shards of glass, instead, I crawl into bed with my earbuds still in and go to sleep.

XXXX

I wake up late in the afternoon to an empty house. I pick up my mom's clothes to add to the laundry basket and thank God the boxers are gone. I put a load of laundry in the wash and proceed to pick up the house, throwing away empty beer cans and cigarette butts. Toast crumbs and a half-eaten bowl of cereal lay on the counter. Once everything is clean, I look through the mail, unpaid bills mostly, and a letter from my dad addressed to me. That one gets tossed in the trash unopened. The electricity is going to get shut off; it's two months past due. Rent hasn't been paid this month. Gas bill is past due. Phone, cable, and internet, up to date. My mom's priorities are clear.

I call the electric company first and pay part of the bill, meaning we get to keep the electricity on for another couple weeks until I pay off the rest. I call the landlord to see if he'll give me a break on rent, but since this isn't the first time we've been late on rent, he's threatening to evict us if we don't get him a cashier's check by the end of the week. Between school and my job at the diner, I don't know how I'm going to get the money together that soon.

I walk back to my room to get ready for work and staring at the broken photograph surrounded by shards of glass, I know what I'm going to have to do. I open my closet and crouch down on my knees. Feeling around with my fingers, I search for the familiar seam in the drywall. Using my nails, I pry it open. Sitting on a block of wood used for framing are two small jewelry boxes. I take the Tiffany blue box out and put the small square of drywall back in place. I sit on my bedroom floor and look in the box. Before life went to shit, instead of buying me dolls or the latest electronic, on my birthday my dad would always buy me a charm for the Tiffany's bracelet he gave me when I was eight. Silver running shoes, a snowflake, the Eiffel Tower, a journal, a teddy bear, an airplane, and a heart. Each charm has a diamond or other gem in it. Each represents a memory. The day I won my race in cross country and made state. The epic winter storm when I was nine. School was canceled and my dad stayed home from work so we could play in the snow. My fingers graze the smooth lines of the Eiffel Tower. That was a special one because it didn't really mean anything yet. It was just a promise that someday we'd go. The bracelet is by far the nicest thing I own and should get me enough to pay the rent and electric bill. And maybe if nobody buys it, I'll have enough money to get it back someday.

XXXX

There was a time when I waitressed at Patty's Diner, but the taunts and pranks started to disrupt business so Gary put me on dish duty. He wanted to fire me and he almost did until I pointed out that I would sue his ass for wrongful termination. I'm always on time for work and I always do my job; can't fire me because I'm the one being harassed. So I've been on dish duty for the past month. It's not that bad, to be honest. I just put my earbuds in, listen to music, and spend hours scraping food off of plates, scrubbing pots and pans, and loading and unloading the industrial sanitizer. It's not glamorous if you know the term garbage juice then you know what I mean, but it got me out of the blue polyester uniform. The pay isn't as good as waitressing but sometimes on a busy night, servers will split their tips with me.

It's almost the end of a long night and I'm loading the sanitizer when someone walks in. Thinking it's Gary about to tell me that we're locking up for the night, I take out my earbuds, look up and see someone whose face lights up like Christmas came early. "No fucking way!" Chase laughs and before I can run and hide, he takes his phone out and snaps a picture. I know what the picture will look like, I'll look like a sweaty mess with pit stains, covered in grease and other people's food. "We all thought you were fired but now that I know you're here, we're going to have some fun."

If you're into football, looks of an all-American blonde hair, blue-eyed baby of Abercrombie and Fitch models, then you can join the thousands of this town that love Chase Worthington. He casually strides toward me and unzips his jeans. "I thought this was the bathroom, do you mind if I just…" He sticks his hand in his pants but before he can whip anything out I grab a knife out of the tray I was getting ready to put in the dishwasher.

Unfortunately for me, it's a bread knife and doesn't look entirely threatening, but I still hold it outstretched in my hand. "You have two choices, Chase," he looks unbothered but curious. "Either you whip out the Jolly Rancher l you're carrying between your legs and I see how sharp this knife really is, or you zip up your pants and walk back out to your fan club."

"Is there a problem here?" Dimitri, the cook for tonight walks over. He can only see the back of Chase, but Dimitri is well aware of why I went from waitressing to dishes.

Chase smirks mischievously and zips up his pants. His palms outstretch in mock surrender, walking backward. "I was just talking to my friend Elena. We've known each other since we were kids. Tell Chef Boyardee over here how well we know each other, Elena."

I glare at him, tempted to start chucking plates in his direction, but he leaves. "You okay, girl?"

Dimitri, who's about half Chase's size and three times older, has his hands on his hips. His Red Socks baseball cap covers a bald head and even though it shades his eyes, I can tell he's worried. I put my earbuds back in and nod at Dimitri. "I'm fine. Thank you, Dimitri."

"Don't let those little shits get you down," he adds before walking away.

And that is the most Dimitri has ever said to me.

When I finish up dishes, I punch out and walk out to my bike parked behind the restaurant. When I don't see it, I panic as it's my only form of transportation. In its place is a piece of paper folded in half with an illustrated picture of a bike. There's no note, no writing, nothing incriminating. It wouldn't matter anyway. Mystic Falls is a boring and old fashioned town that loves high school sports. More specifically, the boys' teams. Even more specifically, football.

At the beginning of the school year, Damon Salvatore threw a 'going to rehab' party. I don't go to parties. I'm not usually invited and I was already the subject of teasing and ridicule. That shit doesn't bother me, but I don't want to hang around it in my off time. I'm perfectly okay with having a nonexistent social life. In college, I'll do all that stuff. I'll go to parties, play beer pong, and drink booze out of red cups. Right now, I need to focus on getting a full ride somewhere out of state. Preferably New York or California, but I'll take a scholarship in Juneau, Alaska if it meant I could leave Mystic Falls forever.

Anyways, I had a more optimistic view of my social life at the beginning of the school year. I had friends from cross country, and during the whole month of May at the end go my Junior year, not a single person asked if I could get them Oxys or Klonopin. June, my friend from cross country, wanted to go to the Salvatore party. I actually thought that this year would be different. That maybe I would have the dreamlike senior year Caroline Forbes described when we were ten. Decade dances. Prom. Class pranks. Founder's Day parties. Miss. Mystic Falls. Caroline wanted it all and when I was ten, I did too. June ditched me the second we got to the party to make out with Ford, another football legend.

Like I said, I was optimistic. Caroline and I even exchanged a couple of words. Noah Scott started talking to me. I was already on my third cup of Damon's summer punch; the music seemed to be getting louder and louder. Enough to make me dizzy and trip on my heel. "Whoa, whoa, Elena," Noah said, taking my elbow to steady me. "I'll take care of you."

I smiled and gazed into his eyes. He has really pretty hazel eyes with flex of gold. Noah steered me into an empty room. He told me to rest on the bed while he got me a bottle of water. I wasn't that drunk. Once I sat down and I was away from the thumping of the music, my head cleared and I knew being in this room was a bad idea. I got up to leave but Noah came back. The water bottle wasn't sealed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Noah, I'm really tired. I think I'm just going to go home."

"You can rest here, I told you. I'll take care of you. Drink this water."

He handed me the water bottle. His words were sweet and seemed sincere, but that gut instinct we're all born with, the sixth sense that tells us to fucking get out of there cause this is not going to end well, was screaming in my head. "Noah, I want to go."

"Drink the water, Elena."

I shook my head. He's so strong, he easily backed me up to the bed forcing me to fall on my back, the water soaked my dress and fell off the bed. He climbed right on top of me. "Noah, please. You don't want to do this," I pleaded over and over again.

"You want this, Elena," he says, running a hand over my face. "You were all over me out there."

He lowered his head to kiss me but I kept my lips firmly pressed together, moving my head away from him. His hands squeezed my sides, I tried to overthrow him, but with the hours spent tackling guys on the field and working out he easily overtook me. "You like it rough?"

I tried to squirm, move my knees. I screamed but no one came to my rescue. The music was still so loud, I could hear it through the door. "Just relax, baby. I'm going to make you feel really good."

"No, Noah," I whisper through tears streaming down my face. "No. Stop, I don't want this."

He pulled at the top of my sundress and in his haste, he ripped buttons right off. "Oops," he chuckles, pawing at my bra. He tugged the straps down and sucked on my breast, biting my nipple. All I could do was plead with him over and over to stop. Scream. I try to lash out but he pinned my arms above my head while his hand snakes in my underwear. His fingers clumsily trying to get me off. It does not work. I don't even think he knows what a clit is, much less where to find it. The ridiculousness of that thought and the situation I was in cause laughter to bubble up and escape my lips, which he did not like. His face reddened with anger and embarrassment.

The moment he let his guard down and shifted his position, I got up and ran for the door. He grabbed my leg and I fell on top of a side table. A lamp crashed to the floor. Before I let myself react to the pain thundering through me, I kick the side table in his direction get up, grab my purse, open the door and run out. I try to cover myself with my arms as best as I can, but I know people saw. Not that they'd ever owned up to it. Keeping my head down, I left the house and walked home. I didn't go to the police station but the moment I got home, I took pictures. I just wanted a shower and sleep. I wanted to sit under scalding hot water until my skin was numb and I didn't have to feel the remnants of Noah's hands. Bruises color my arms, the side of my stomach, thighs, and neck.

I made the mistake of going to the police the next morning. I shouldn't have bothered. Noah Scott had no priors, is a member of a generous family that donates large sums to the local government. They donated funds to build the new firehouse. Noah Scott is a football legend who took Mystic Falls High School to state two years in a row. When I filed a report, showed the pictures, and explained what happened, they brought Noah in.

Several people volunteered to come forward saying that I was coming on to Noah and tried to drag him to that room but Noah turned me down. Members of every clique at school will attest to that under oath: drama club, cheerleading squad, newspaper, student council, and STEM club. That being said, Mystic Falls High School has a zero-tolerance policy on assault. While Noah is under investigation, he's benched from all games. He's already missed two games and I refuse to back down from my story. Once the school is done interviewing people that were at the party that night and corroborate it with the other stories, including my account of what happened and Noah's, the school will decide what to do. Most likely the student government will have a trial and determine the outcome.

The high school hates me. The town hates me. Our streak of winning the state championship is suddenly up in the air. My cross country friends are no longer friends. It got so bad that my coach doesn't even coach me anymore but has me run on my own and record my time and miles.

Now my only form of transportation is gone, but I can get through it. I've gotten through worse. I'll start taking the bus again until I can afford another bike off Craigslist. I just have to keep my head down and study. Once Noah's back on the team, things will quiet down and I can go back to being ignored. I can't believe I'm hoping to be ignored. Moreover, I may not back down from the truth but it doesn't mean I don't wish I kept everything that happened that night a secret.

XXXX

The Timberwolves lost the game on Friday, which means I'm going to be blamed on Monday. So it's no surprise that when I arrive at school in the morning and walk down the hallway, I see my face plastered over every surface. It's not just any picture or even a photoshopped picture of me humping a Timberwolf, which was what decorated the hallways last week. It's the picture Chase took of me last night with the words Maid Available and my number right underneath. I don't bother taking them down because I know they'd love it if I got all dramatic and cried while peeling the pictures off the walls and tossing them into the garbage. Instead, I pretend they aren't there and walk to my locker. That's when I see a crowd around my locker. Never a good sign, especially when I have to get my books before class starts.

When the crowd sees me coming, they all part like the Red Sea to see my reaction to whatever awaits me. Trash. Literal trash is duct taped up all over my locker. A condom- used by the looks of it, old bags of chips, a moldy half-eaten sandwich, someone went to the trouble of smearing mustard; I think it's supposed to spell something out but I can't tell from this angle. "Oh, look!" A freshman I don't recognize calls out, "It's Easy Elena."

Fucking nickname. It's not even that creative. I roll my eyes. Chase steps out from the crowd, his face alight with humor, ready to see how devastated I am. I dramatically put my right hand under my left hand's elbow and prop my hand on my chin, doing my best imitation of the thinking man pose. "First of all, you're not supposed to literally spell out the punchline to a joke. There's trash on my locker, I get it. Second, it's y-o-u- apostrophe- r-e; you are trash," I comment, pointing at the mustard lettering and criticizing it like I would an essay for A.P. European History. "Unless you're staying that the trash on the locker is mine "your trash". Like, "here you go, here's your trash,_"_ but I don't think that's what you were going for, was it, Chase?" People chuckle into their hands to protect anyone from seeing that I find this all incredibly dumb. More students gather around so I continue.

I point at the used condom and pretend to blush by fanning my face with my other hand. "And is this a memento of our time together," I say in my sweetest Southern accent. "Why Chase Worthington, I do declare, I didn't realize our night of love-making in the kitchen of Patty's Diner was so special you decided to keep a souvenir," I step up to him and pat his chest. "Thank you, darlin'. Next time I'll ride you bareback so we can get a head start on that family you were talking about."

He scoffs, suddenly backing away from me. "I'd never put my dick in your dirty cunt."

"That's not what you said last night," I state, not missing a beat.

Chase scowls but his eyes perk up at something behind me. I feel a tug on the belt loops of my jeans pulling me back against a lean hard body. Large hands squeeze my sides, not affectionately but as if inspecting something. I recognize the smell. Bourbon. Coffee. Mint. The spawn of Satan's back in town. "Chastity belt is still firmly in place, Worthington. Elena's still saving herself for Jesus," Damon says, hands still firmly on my hips. Then Damon leans down and whispers in my ear, "I donated the condom. It's probably still hot from when I was inside the barista at Starbucks. You can take a taste if you want. I know you're curious."

I aim to elbow him but he swiftly catches my elbow and points to the crowd of students around us. "Now everyone knows you're a liar, Elena. You can make amends. I'm sure Scott would show you some appreciation."

"Ugh," I say, wiggling from his grasp. "The Prince of Darkness is back in town."

"- King of Darkness, Elena," he corrects. "Get the title right."

"How many nurses did you have to sleep with to get released from the Malibu rehab facility Daddy sent you to?"

"Haven't you heard?" Damon lifts his hands up, palms face out and wave them around dramatically. "I'm cured!"

Everyone standing around my locker laughs. Every single one of them. Damon is back and holding court. Damon doesn't play any sports. He doesn't participate in extracurricular activities unless you count drinking and sleeping with the entire girl's soccer team. This town is run by the Salvatore empire. They own hotels and commercial real estate all over the world, have stock in lumber dating back to the early twentieth century, and in the last fifteen years started investing in various technology companies. How do I know this? The Salvatores employ 65% of this town. Everyone keeps tabs on Salvatore Investments because when SI does well, so does the town.

Damon grabs my belt loop and pulls me back toward him. "Get your hands off me, Damon!"

He simply tsks. "I have a lot of money riding on the game this Friday. Tell everyone the truth about what happened, and I'll make this all go away," he says, waving toward the locker.

I try to slap his hands away. "If you don't have faith that the Timberwolves can win without Noah, I suggest you change your bet."

Damon tugs me back, leans down so I can feel the heat of his breath, and whispers in my ear. "Your life is about to get a hell of a lot worse."

I jerk away from him. "Not possible."

The bell rings and people start to disperse. Chase claps Damon on the shoulder and they start to walk down the hall, laughing. Damon turns his head and looks at me with the same amount of hatred that's been there for the last five years. I don't know how it's possible to convey "I wish you were never born" with one look, but Damon does it so well I think he practices it in the mirror.

I grab a nearby trashcan and start throwing things away. This isn't the first time this has happened and I doubt it'll be the last. When I finally am able to open my locker, more trash spills out and a half drunk bottle of orange juice spills onto my jeans. Great. The janitor rolls a mop down the hallway and approaches me. "Again, Elena?"

"I'm always curious to see what they can come up with next," I mumble, picking up a half-eaten apple and throwing in the garbage can. "Can I borrow your cleaning spray?"

Jorge shakes his head. "I got this, Elena. You need to get to class."

"I'm already late."

Jorge bends down and starts to help pick up trash. "When are you going to tell admin about this?"

"It'll just get worse," I sigh, picking up a used tampon and throwing it away. "I already made the mistake of reporting to them once, I'm not doing it again." I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "They don't believe me, anyway. I think they're turning a blind eye to all of this because of all the trouble I initially caused."

"Stay strong, kiddo."

"If you say 'this too shall pass', I'll stop bringing you those snickerdoodles you love," I joke.

Jorge chuckles and together we clean up my locker. After we're done cleaning, I go to the office to get a tardy slip and head to my first class. The rest of the morning proceeds as usual. I hear mention of what happened this morning and my phone has been so slammed with calls that I turned it off. People call me names, vacillating between Easy Elena and Miss. Priss. I'm either a whore or a prude and I kinda wish they'd all get together and decide which it is. Hold an election. Vote on it. I don't care just pick one.

Through trial and error, I've found a place to eat lunch. I slip out the side doors by the gym and walk to the bleachers. Sitting on the bleachers would draw attention, but I found a spot beneath them where I'm not bothered. I'm sitting on a patch of grass, eating a peanut butter sandwich, listening to music and doing chemistry homework that was assigned this morning when I hear raised voices. I pause my music and crawl further beneath the bleachers out of sight. "Did you fucking touch her?"

"No, I swear, she's lying. I know the rules, Salvatore."

"Elena Gilbert is off limits. She's filth. You touch her, you lose any future employment in my company."

"You mean your father's company."

I hear a guttural noise and a gasp. "I don't fucking care if you mess with her locker or tape pictures of her on the wall but if I hear that you touched her, I'll fucking ruin you. We both know I have the resources, Scott."

"I didn't fucking touch her," he says through wheezes. "The bitch is lying, I swear, Damon."

"She lives on the south-side and her family is garbage. If I find out that you fucking touched that piece of trash, I'll tell everyone at school your dad paid for three abortions from three different girls you fucked," Damon yells.

"Jesus, Damon," Noah cries. "I know the rules."

I hear another punch, escape of air, and groan, then I hear retreating footsteps and when I know everyone is gone, continue with my lunch. So Damon thinks I'm so disgusting, no one is allowed to touch me. It explains the lack of dates, but really I think that has more to do with my family drama. Until five years ago, Damon and I knew each other very well. One might consider us friends. Funny how quickly things change.

I turn my music back on and get to work. Damon's back in town which means the taunts and comments are going to get progressively worse. Damon's the type of person that will lead me into a sense of security and then pounce. I can either lie down and wait for everything to pass, or I can fight back.

Instead of continuing my chemistry homework, I walk past the empty auto shop and steal a pair of overalls, a cap, and a pocket knife from one of the shelves. I throw the overalls on over my clothes and making sure my hair is tucked into the cap, I walk to the senior parking lot. Even though he's not class president, Damon parks in Jasper's spot. With my fingers crossed, I pray that the car in that spot is Damon's vintage blue Corvette convertible and not the Tesla that he sometimes drives. If the top is down, I don't even have to break in, I just have to hot-wire it, something my uncle taught me when I was a kid.

When I see that cheesy as fuck car with the hood down, I sigh in relief. He's begging almost begging for me to take it. I jump over the door and leaning down beneath the steering wheel, I use the pocket knife to cross cables. When the engine starts and AC-DC starts playing, I practically scream. Yes, what I'm about to do is technically illegal and it's risky but I'm tired of sitting by while people try to make my life a living hell. The administration and police did absolutely nothing and chances are Noah will play again this week. I have the power to fight back in my own way, might as well use it.

I know I'll miss the rest of classes, but I don't even care. I make sure his car has a full tank of gas, put the car in reverse and drive, knowing I have about an hour to get to where I need to go. For an older car, the drive is pretty smooth and even though I'm constantly watching for flashing lights, I'm enjoying the drive. I'm being reckless and stupid but It feels good to do something and not just sit complacently while little boys decide to torture me. After a half hour of driving, I pull up in front of a small wooden cabin just outside of town Damon's uncle uses occasionally for fishing. That way I feel less like I committed a felony and more like I moved his car. I put hand sanitizer on my sleeve and wipe down the car. Keeping the coveralls and cap on, I leave the car and walk to the bus stop.

I get to Patty's just in time for my evening shift. I usually don't work during the week, but Connor's sick and they need someone to do dishes. I'm scrubbing a pan that was used to roast a couple of chickens when Damon walks into the kitchen. "Where the fuck is my car?"

I pause the music playing through my headphones, put the wire brush I was using down and turn towards him. "I have no clue what you're talking about," I say as innocently as possible.

Damon strides toward me. "I know it was you, Elena. Jasper saw you walk into auto shop."

I laugh. Literally, with my mouth hanging open and my chest heaving. "Oh, so Jasper, the girl who stole my clothes during gym last week and put them in the toilet said that I walked into the auto shop so I must've taken your car."

Damon stumbles, second-guessing himself. It's a sight to behold. "Yes."

I dramatically take out my earbuds and place my hands on my hips. "Was this before or after she blew you?"

Damon doesn't miss a beat. "This has nothing to do with whether she blew me or not. Where the fuck is my car, Elena?"

I shrug.

"I know your Uncle John taught you how to hot-wire cars because I was there when he taught us."

I place my hand on my chest. "I'm touched you remembered, Prince of Darkness."

"King," Damon corrects for the second time that day. "Where's my car?"

I slowly walk over to Damon, taking off my apron and tossing it on the chair I sit on during a slow night. "Your car…" I say slowly, placing my left hand on his shoulder. His grey-blue eyes look curiously at me, searching for a motive. "…is right." I place my right hand on his other shoulder. "…where it belongs," I finish. The moment his eyes narrow, I knee him in the groin.

He yelps and keels over completely caught off guard. "You brat," he utters.

I lean down and using my index finger, lift his chin up so he's looking directly into my eyes. "I'm filth, Damon," I mutter. "You're not allowed to touch me. Those are the rules."

His eyes widen and I use the moments he's connecting my words to what was said earlier to walk through the two way swinging door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

By the time I make it home from my shift, the lights in the kitchen are on which means my mom is home. There's a car in front of our house that I don't recognize: an old Taurus that looks like it's between paint jobs. Suddenly walking into my own home is something I don't know if I want to do. I planned on taking a shower long enough for the hot water to run out and fall into bed. My jeans have stains from this morning and I smell like orange juice that's gone bad. It's been a long as fuck Monday.

I stare at the turquoise front door daring myself to cross the threshold. They say people don't change overnight. There's always been a darkness in my family where we keep secrets hidden from the world, but over the course of six months, a light shined on our secrets and the picture perfect life that people saw cracked and became distorted. Now five years later, everything has changed.

I take a deep breath, open the gate, walk across the lawn and open the door. Country music is playing throughout the house. I don't recognize the song because I'm not a fan of country, but the singer is singing about killin' time drinking because a love passed away. The irony is not lost on me.

I walk into the kitchen and see my mom wearing a jean skirt that looks like she picked it up from the juniors department of a department store, a bright pink tank top with her black bra showing, and cowboy boots with butterflies on them. She's stirring something on the stove, singing along to the lyrics, completely unaware that it's midnight and her daughter just walked through the door. A large man with a grizzly beard and a cowboy hat stands behind my mother and holds her hips. Together they sway to the music and I want to puke. It's like a train wreck that I cannot look away from. My mom has not once played country music or worn cowboy boots; she's more of a classic rock fan.

My brain is telling me to go to my room and change for a late night run, but my body will not look away. I'm not blind to the fact that my mother has been sleeping around but until tonight it never blatantly happened in front of me. My mom will go missing for a week or I'll hear noises coming out of her room. What is happening before me is something entirely different.

"Oh, Elena!" My mom squeals uncharacteristically. "I'm making us a family dinner!"

The cowboy kisses my mom's neck and turns towards me. He licks his lips and his eyes land on my chest. "Aren't you a pretty little thing."

Jesus fucking Christ.

My mother swats him with a wooden spoon. "That's my daughter!"

His glazed over eyes scan me and suddenly I feel dirtier than I when I walked in. "I don't mind."

"Gross." I turn to walk to my room, grateful that there's a lock on my door. "Good night, Mother."

"Elena Gilbert," my mom yells. "Get your ass back here. I made us family dinner."

Family dinner? Is she serious? I haven't seen her face in five weeks. I don't even know how she pays for the internet and phone bill because last I heard, she was fired from the Winn-Dixie. I spin around, no longer able to contain the anger that has been simmering since I found out that my mom hasn't paid the important bills. The bills we need to survive. "We aren't a family!"

"Don't you talk that way to me."

"I don't recognize you anymore!" I bellow, striding toward her, my voice getting louder with every step. "You are a stranger, a sad and strung out stranger. Did you even realize the rent wasn't paid this month?" I point to the kitchen lights and the stove. "The electric and gas bill wasn't paid either. Do you know who called them and took care of it-_ AGAIN_? The only fucking adult in this family."

My mother's face contorts with rage. She was beautiful and healthy but this, this is a fun-house mirror version of the mom I love. She lifts her hand and slaps me across the face. Hard. It matches the venom in her eyes and completely contradicts her behavior from five minutes ago. "You do not get to speak that way to me. I made a special dinner just for us."

My hand reflexively goes up to cover my cheek. "The day I participate in family dinner with you and your boyfriend of the week is the day your _husband_ breaks out of jail."

I don't wait for her reaction or for the cowboy's reaction. I highly doubt she filled him in on that bit of information. Instead, I stride to my room and lock the door behind me.

XXXXX

The college fair is something I've been looking forward to for a while. For seniors, classes are canceled for the day so we can visit with representatives from universities all over the country. The day is split up into two parts. In the morning, representatives from private universities meet with students and have booths displaying information about their schools. In the afternoon, public universities and military recruiters take over. I already have a short meeting with the representatives from Columbia, Stanford, and USC, and in the afternoon I'm hoping to find out what scholarships public universities offer. After last night, I'll probably pick up brochures from the marines and air force. If it's free and gets me out of Mystic Falls, it's an option.

Since my wardrobe mainly consists of jeans and t-shirts from local thrift stores, I borrowed a dress from Chloe, one of the waitresses at Patty's whose already graduated high school and is working part-time to help pay for college. It's a black shirtdress with patterns of different colored flowers. Even though it's not something I'd pick out, it's nice without being too formal. I take time to blow out my hair and apply mascara and a neutral shade of lipstick. Chloe has princess sized Thumbelina feet, so I wasn't able to borrow shoes. I lace up my converse sneakers, grab my backpack and walk to the bus stop.

The kitchen was left as is when I walked by it. The wooden spoon lay on the counter next to the pot of sauce. The table is still set for three. The cowboy's car is gone and so is she.

When I walk into school the fliers advertising me as a maid are gone and there's no one crowded around my locker. I make a mental note to bake a batch of cookies for Jorge.

After what happened last night with Damon, I had a feeling something would be waiting for me. The lack of immediate retaliation makes me anxious. Damon is smart like secretly works for a special ops division of the government smart. He's probably waiting until I feel safe and secure and then he'll pounce, which puts me on edge. I glance around to see if he's hiding in a corner, carrying his trademark cup of Starbucks coffee mixed with bourbon.

When the coast is clear and I'm 95% sure there won't be any surprises at the other end of my locker, I put my backpack away and walk to the gymnasium. A maroon and white balloon arch with the words 'The Future Is Waiting' above it greet students before they enter. It's a total Caroline Forbes job and I make a mental note to tell her it looks nice if I see her, even if she'll most likely reject my compliment by ignoring me and walking away.

Clutching several folders with copies of my resume, recommendation letters, and transcripts, I walk in. The gym is lined with booths made out of wall dividers and fold-out tables. Pennants, pens, stress balls, stationary, and brochures decorate each table. The gym is already full of students talking to representatives and Principal Hale paces the auditorium making sure students are on task and respectful. I head over to my first appointment with Columbia. A petite woman with short grey hair and a sharp cream-colored suit stands next to a student representative that looks like he's directly from the cover of the school's catalog. While he's talking to another student, I approach the woman.

"Hi," I smile, extending my hand for her to shake. "My name is Elena Gilbert. I believe we have an appointment."

"It's lovely to meet you, Elena. My name is Eleanor Kline," she says, shaking my hand. "Why don't you take a seat."

The booth is in a semi-private corner of the gym; before I sit down I'm sure to do a quick check of who's around. The last thing I need is for someone to call me Easy Elena in front of the admissions representative of Columbia. Damon and Chase just walked in, which makes me nervous enough to sit down and hide out of sight. I don't have long to wow this lady, so I hand her a folder I prepared and recite what I practiced over and over last night. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. Since I was a little girl, I've dreamed of studying at Columbia University and I think my commitment to my studies and my background would be a great fit for your school."

She puts on the reading glasses hanging around her neck and flips through my folder. "Why Columbia?"

"When I was in the first grade, my dad took me to New York. The whole reason for our trip was so he could show me Columbia's campus. The thing I remember most vividly is when we walked into the Butler Library. It was a reader's dream, full of thousands upon thousands of books. Students studying and dedicating themselves to the pursuit of knowledge. At that young age, I remember thinking that I want to be around people who will challenge me because they're equally excited to learn."

Lies. Lies all lies. I've never been to New York but I looked up pictures online and researched.

"What a heartfelt answer," she sighs.

I am going to hell. Right to hell.

She continues to flip through my file. "You came in second in cross country when your team went to state during your sophomore year; your G.P.A. is right where it should be for Columbia; you've taken several A.P. courses; you work part-time." She pauses, her brows furrowing. "Unfortunately, your test scores are well below the average test scores of those we accept to Columbia."

My face flushes and my heart begins to erase. Am I naked right now? Is this a nightmare because please pinch me and wake me up. Fucking test scores. I have above a 4.0 G.P.A., teacher recommendations, extracurricular activities and the one thing holding me back is my inability to do well on a standardized test. "Is there anything I can do? I was hoping to talk about scholarship options but that seems a little ridiculous if Columbia can't look beyond my test scores."

She moves her glasses further up her nose and reads through some of my paperwork. I have the feeling that she's doing it to avoid looking me in the eyes. "Columbia has been more progressive in recent years when it comes to admission by looking more at who the candidates are as people rather than measuring them by a test. However, thousands of students apply to Columbia University with more extracurricular activities, a similar G.P.A., and much higher test scores." She closes the folder and clasps her hands together. "Write a stellar admissions essay and if you know any alumni, ask for a letter of recommendation. That may be enough to set you apart."

Even though I wanted her to keep the file folder, she hands it back to me. "Good luck, Ms. Gilbert."

"Thank you for your time." I stand up and excuse myself. I've worked my ass off for three years and I'm being judged based off of a test score. Is every school going to tell me what Eleanore Kline said? Should I just go home now and regroup? With my eyes focused on the gym floor so no one sees the tears that are about to spill from them, I take a step away from the booth and walk directly into someone.

"Oh, God," I sputter. "I'm so sorry."

"Not surprised to see you all prim and proper, Little Miss Sunshine."

I close my eyes and curse. "Not as surprised as I am to see you. I didn't realize you were taking the college route after high school."

Damon takes a sip of his coffee. "Attendance to this sad little shindig is mandatory."

I grab the coffee cup out of his hand and take a sip. It burns in the best way. Damon's coffee is exactly what I need to get me through the rest of this morning. I take a longer gulp, watching his eyes widen in shock, then hand him his cup back. "Sacrificed any virgins lately?"

His lip quirks up."Are you volunteering?"

I audibly scoff and roll my eyes dramatically. God, how much bourbon did he put in there? I tingle all over. "The person who pops this cherry isn't going to be a descendant of the dark lord. He's going to nice and respectful." I don't know why I'm saying this but part of me wants to take the cup of coffee back. As if reading my mind, Damon moves it away from my reach.

"You're not going to cum with nice and respectful," he states knowingly. I squeak and take a step forward. I can't believe he's saying this in a room full of students and college admissions people. Wait. This is Damon, of course, he'd say this right here, he'd do it just to get a rise out of me. "He will, but he won't be able to give you what you need."

My brow furrows, genuinely curious. "What do I need?"

Damon takes a step forward so we're mere inches away from each other, and hands me his cup of coffee. I take another sip, waiting for his answer. "You need darkness and you need to get so lost in it that it consumes you."

His words warm me more than the coffee could and it angers me. I shouldn't be having this reaction around him. "That sounds…" I pause, trailing off, trying to find the right word. "Toxic."

He hums, thinking over my words. "Toxic and fucked up, just like us."

Not me, us. I take another sip of Damon's coffee and hand him back the cup. "Nice and respectful. My life is already fucked up, I'd rather not add to it."

I attempt to walk away but Damon grabs my wrist, not in a harsh way. His crystalline blue eyes lock with mine, holding me captive while his thumb draws soft little circles in my skin. The usual Damon smirk isn't there, the humor is gone. I don't notice people around us, it's just him and me. My pulse quickens and I know he can feel blood pumping through the veins in my wrist. "We're the same," he whispers, continuing his ministrations. "You know it."

I swallow and close my eyes, trying to remember we are in fact in the middle of a gym full of students. My eyes flick open, meeting his. "Last I checked, I didn't abandon rehab." I yank my hand away. "Go to hell, Damon."

Feeling a little more confident than I did a few minutes ago after my meeting with Columbia, I walk away from Damon and toward Stanford. Damon might as well have said that I'm like my mom or my dad. Another reason to get as far as I can away from this town.

XXXXX

The rest of my morning meetings went similarly to Columbia's meeting. It doesn't matter that I'm in the top five percent of my class or that I have great recommendations, all they care about is a number. Stanford seemed eager to admit me and even gave me information about scholarships but nothing felt concrete. I thought I'd leave my meetings feeling like I had options and now I have to hustle to get recommendation letters from local alumni. I don't know how I'm going to accomplish that when most of the town hates the girl that got the star quarterback benched.

I'm walking back into the auditorium after eating a peanut butter sandwich for lunch when I see Caroline. Her long blond hair lays softly down her back and she's laughing, chatting up a representative from UCLA. She seems so happy and carefree. The world is at her fingertips, as it always has been. She deserves it and even though that thought pierces my heart, I can't help but be happy for her.

I think better about talking to her and turn the opposite to visit another booth. I'm talking to a woman with dark braids pulled into a high bun. She's talking animatedly to me about the University of Virginia. "Do you know what you'd like to study?" She inquires.

I had different answers prepared for the schools this morning based on the areas of study the school prides itself in; for Columbia, pre-law, for Stanford, medicine, I don't know what to say for a school I'd never considered. I lamely hesitate. This should be an easy question to answer. The easiest question to answer.

"What did you study?" I ask, hoping she'll want to talk about her own experience and not realize I didn't answer her question. She's saying something to me but I'm distracted by the two police officers that have entered the auditorium. One of them asks Chase a question and he points to me, his eyes alight with menace. This cannot be good. I'm tempted to run, but the last thing I need is for cops to chase me across the auditorium in front of my peers and people I'm trying to impress. People that literally hold my future in their hands. Instead, I start walking toward the exit on the other side of the gym.

I'm almost to the doors when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. "Are you Elena Gilbert?" One of the officers asks.

I gulp. "Yes."

The other officer takes out cuffs. "You're under arrest for grand theft auto." He spins me around and pushes me up against the wall and snaps cuffs around my wrists. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

Words completely fail me. It's like I'm hearing his words submerged under water and I can't make sense of it. The auditorium is completely silent, everyone's eyes are on me. Some people have their phones out. My face burns with embarrassment and I feel my eyes start to water. It's not the fact that my life is over and I'm going to jail for a prank I pulled, it's the fact that I've been on the other side of all this. I've seen everything that's happening from their angle.

We were at a grocery store buying ice cream. I demanded cookie dough ice cream and my father wanted vanilla. I was laughing and making fun of him for being boring. We so rarely laughed in those days. Then two cops showed up and arrested my father for illegally writing prescriptions. Cops drove me home. I later found out that at first, it was for himself, to help deal with everything we'd been through, but then he got into trouble and started writing prescriptions for other people.

The officers guide me out to a car. It must be an unmarked car because it's just a black Mustang with tinted windows. The officers open the backdoor for me and shove me in. The strangeness of their behavior doesn't penetrate the fog going through my mind. When we've been driving for fifteen minutes, I know that I should question where we're going. "Do you think she's in shock?" The redhead says. He's taken off his cop hat and is rubbing his head.

The one driving chuckles. "Yeah. Damon said she might scream, bite, kick, and try anything in her means to fight us but she's been a good little convict."

"Easiest grand I've ever made."

Damon paid off cops?

"Can we get in trouble for impersonating cops?"

"Nah," the one driving assures. "She actually did steal a car. She won't tell."  
"Wait, you guys aren't cops?" I ask.

"She's awake," the redhead chortles. "Don't try anything funny."

"Where are you taking me?" I demand.

We've been driving for over a half hour, way outside of Mystic Falls. "To your gift."

I lean back in my seat, lift up my legs and use all my effort to kick the passenger seat. "Tell me where the fuck you're taking me!"

"Hey, hey, hey," The redhead turns around and dangles a small key in front of me. "Do that again and I'll throw away the key."

I sit up. The last thing I need is to be stuck in cuffs. "Damon paid you to arrest me in front of the school?"

"We were told to go to the auditorium at 1:15 and arrest you for stealing a car. Hey, how did you steal the car anyways? That's pretty badass."

I ignore his question. "How did you get past the front office?"

"Don't we look like cops? All official and shit?"

I look at their uniforms. They do look surprisingly realistic, but then as my eyes scan the costume I realize the flaw. Fucking plastic utility belt. I should've realized. I'm such an idiot. And they were in and out of the school so quickly, no one would've noticed. If I could slap my forehead I would, there weren't any teachers or administrators in the gym because of some sort of faculty luncheon with the representatives from the private schools that were at the gym that morning. It's more prestigious to say you send students to Harvard and Yale. It gives those representatives time to ask questions about certain students they met with. Damon knew this. I was wondering why he bothered coming today. I can't believe I fell for this.

"So are you like strippers or something?" I ask. I wouldn't be surprised if Damon's friends with strippers.

The redhead pulls something out of his pocket. "Nah, we're actors. Have you seen _Newsies_, on Main? I played Jack. Colton over here was an extra in _The Walking Dead_."

"I played a zombie. Fucking brutal in Georgia heat. You really start to feel like you're dead."

The redhead leans over and places his card in the front pocket of my dress. "In case you need our services."

"Touch my boob again and you'll need reconstructive surgery."

"Says the girl in cuffs."

I kick his seat again just because its the only thing I can do. It only makes them laugh. "Where are you taking me?"

"We're almost there," Colton replies.

I try a different tact. "So you're not at all worried that you just kidnapped me from school and are taking me to some random location outside of the city? I could press charges. I don't have a lot of money and I have to get to work so I can pay bills. Can't you guys just drop me off at work and tomorrow at school I'll tell Damon what good little actors you guys are."

"Don't do that," the redhead says. "Don't try to manipulate us. Damon said you'd try that too."

I sit back and huff out an exaggerated sigh. We're literally in the middle of nowhere. Colton pulls up to a park that looks vaguely familiar. He stays in the driver's seat with the car running while the redhead helps me out of the car. "If you try something stupid, we were given specific instructions to leave you at a bar in Savannah. Actually, please do something stupid, because if you do, we get a bonus."

I don't even know where I am and I don't want to sit with these idiots for five hours. "I won't do anything stupid."

He unlocks the cuffs and hops back in the car. Before I know it, the car has peeled away and is out of sight. My phone is currently in my locker at school. I don't actually have work tonight but I need to get a run in before the meet on Saturday. Coach will expect it. I take in my surroundings. I'm at a park in the middle of the Mystic Forest. I spin around and take in my surroundings when I see something propped up against a tree. I stride toward it. My bike, with a bow on it and a card attached. But as I reach for the card, something on the tree catches my eye. The words, "Elena is a loser" are etched into the tree. The angles of the letters are rough; the 'o' looks like a square. My fingers trace the inscription and then I remember why this place feels so familiar.

When we were twelve, Damon's uncle took us camping. He was supposed to just take Jeremy, Stefan, and Damon but I complained that the boys got to do all the fun stuff. Jeremy and Stefan were in the same grade and practically inseparable. In second grade, the school dared to split them up into two different classes. Jer and Stef were so furious they threw a fit; they were such hell-raisers that after one day of being apart, they were moved back to the same class.

Damon and I were naturally stuck together. Often forced to babysit the boys. We used to compete and it got especially tense during the camping trip. I don't think Damon wanted me there. Who caught the first fish? Damon. Who puts their tent up the quickest? I did. Who was able to start a fire first? Damon. Who won the foot race? I did. He was so pissed off I won that foot race, he etched the words into the tree. He accused me of cheating.

The etched words don't make me angry, they make me laugh. That was a good day and before everything went to shit. I open the card sitting next to the red bow. _Sorry about the tires_. That's all it says. I crouch down on the ground and feel the tires. Flat and there are slash marks. Fucking great. I grab the bike and start walking it out of the park. Now that I know where I am, I know how to get back home but it's over thirty miles away. Hopefully, a car will stop by and give me a ride. I just need to make it to a mechanic or a gas station. If the slashes didn't puncture the inner tube, I might be able to get away with filling the tires up with air and biking back.

A few cars pass, some honk. Then I hear _Firework_ by Katy Perry playing from a car driving slowly next to me getting progressively louder as the car gets closer. "Isn't this your favorite song?" Damon yells from his convertible. "Baby you're a firework! Come and show them what you're worth!" He sings.

I turn my head back to the road and refuse to look at him, continuing to walk down the highway. "Come on, Elena!" He shouts. "You used to sing this song all the fucking time."

I continue to walk straight ahead. I will not look at him. I will not give in. I will not yell at him. "Okay, I'll play another one of your favorites." _Pumped Up Kicks_ comes on. I still like this song, so I'm not entirely pissed off it's playing but I continue my stride.

Realizing I'm not going to give in, he tries a different tact. The music turns off. "Tell you what, you take back your story about Noah and I'll give you a ride home. I'll even buy you dinner and make sure your bike gets fixed. All this will stop, Elena. I'll make sure everyone at school is nice to you. I bet I can even get Caroline to be friends with you again. Do you really want your senior year to continue in this direction?"

He's so proud of himself. The way he can manipulate the entire school into doing his bidding. He's absolutely right, he could do all those things, but he could also do them because he believes me. He could stand up for me and make it all go away. Something in me snaps. I stop walking and turn to look at him in his stupid aviator sunglasses. He always loved Top Gun, fucking wannabe. "Your friend, Noah, sexually assaulted me at your house. I had bruises. Sure he wasn't successful in completely raping me, but he would've if I hadn't gotten away. He should be in jail for what he did to me, but instead, he's missing a couple of football games. I would not lie about this, and I think you know that."

"Get in the car, Elena."

"No," I reply and continue walking the bike.

"You are so fucking stubborn. You never ask for help when you need it."

I growl, actually growl and spin around for a second time. "_You_ fucking put me here," I yell, pointing at his stupid face. "You had me fake arrested by some dumb-shit actors in the middle of the college fair, something I actually cared about."

Damon scoffs. "You don't want to go to those public schools; you're all about Harvard and Stanford. Always have been, I doubt that's changed."

"How would you know? It's not like we're chatty with one another. You're too busy running your little circus over at MFH," I retort.

Damon pulls over and puts his car in park. "I enjoy life," he bellows proudly. "Unlike you, always going around like someone kicked your damned puppy."

My hands clench into fists. There are so many things I want to shout. So many things I want to scream. "You're not enjoying life, Damon. You're slowly drowning yourself."

Darkness flashes in his eyes. "Go to hell, Elena."

"Already there, jackass!"

Damon puts his car back in drive and pulls up beside me. "You put up walls to protect your lies; Never forget that I've already been on the receiving end of one of them."

He's never mentioned it before. He just stopped talking to me. Then he just started pretending that I didn't exist. Before I can say anything, he's gone, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I walked with my bike down the road for an hour before I found a mechanic who could fix my bike for free since he had an inner tube lying around from a previous job. Plus I think he felt sorry for me; I did look pretty haggard. Once my bike was fixed, I was able to bike to school and get my backpack and phone. I'm walking back out to my bike when I hear my name being called. I turn to see Caroline in a Mystic Falls Football tank and cheer shorts jogging to catch up to me.

"Hey," she pants, falling in step with me. "That was insane today. A video of you getting arrested went viral."

"Fantastic," I sigh. "I always wanted to become Insta-famous for getting fake arrested."

Caroline doesn't laugh. "I knew it was fake; after so many years hanging out with mom at the police station, I can tell a fake uniform from a real one."  
"What's she doing now?"

Caroline gets quiet for a moment before responding. "After everything that happened, she couldn't go back to the station, so she quit and took a break. She was recruited by the FBI and splits her time between Mystic Falls and Richmond."

"Look, Caroline…"

"I'm actually not here to talk about any of this," she interrupts. She stands up straighter and picks up her pace, reminding me more of the Caroline I've seen around campus over the last few years. She's all business, full of purpose. "I just came to tell you that as a member of the student council, your trial against Noah Scott is set for the next session of court, on the last Friday of the month."

I'm about to be judged by my peers over something they already don't think happened. I can't believe the administration is leaving it up to them. I'm pretty sure that I know how this is going to end up.

"Until then, they're letting Noah play," she adds. "Noah claimed that if there's going to be a trial, he should be treated as innocent until proven guilty."

I stop at my bike, and lean against the metal bike rack. "What do you think?"

"I can't say, I have to be able to judge both sides fairly," she replies with a shrug of her shoulders before running off and leaving without so much as a good-bye.

Liz was the one who arrested my dad. At one point, she and my parents were close, back when Caroline and I were friends. Back when everything was shiny and perfect. I can't blame Liz for leaving Mystic Falls, after all, I want to leave for the same reasons.

XXXX

I don't have to work at the diner, so I bike straight home. My mom isn't home when I arrive, so I go for a run. On my way back, I run into the Pit-Stop to pick up something for dinner with tip money Chloe gave me last night. I'm trying to decide which new M&Ms I'm going to buy: coconut or hazelnut spread when I feel a large hand wrap around my shoulder and press into the skin right beneath my clavicle. It's not a tender or familiar touch but one that sends a prickle of panic down my spine. Then I feel the prick of a knife in my back. Warm breath touches my ear. "Don't scream." Well, now I really want to scream. "You're going to follow me outside and we're going to have a little chat."

"There are cameras," I mutter. "You don't want to do this, Noah."

He leans in closer and takes a step between my legs. His back is now firmly pressed against mine. "I've been wanting to do this since you ran off that night."

Ran off? More like escaped.

"Why don't I buy those M&Ms you've been staring at for five minutes." He reaches over me and takes the bag of plain milk chocolate M&Ms. Dammit, he couldn't even get the right kind. "We're going to walk to the register, and you're not going to do anything stupid. See the guy behind the counter?" I turn my head and see a pimply freshman I've seen skating around outside of school. He's white and he has dreads; yeah, he's not going to help me out of this jam. "He's a fan of mine; I give him the word, he'll turn off the security cameras and I'll take you to the back, then when I'm done with you I'll have Sean call the cops and have you real arrested for stealing. The store is empty; I saw you and he saw you. So which will it be Elena? We talk outside or we go into the back?"

I don't hesitate. "Outside."

He squeezes my shoulder to the point where it hurts, but I no longer feel the bite of a knife. "Good choice."

Maybe he put it away, then I can knock a shelf over to distract him and run. Noah grabs a six-pack from the cooler and steers me toward the cashier. "Awww man!" He cries out, all excited like Tom Brady just walked in. "Hey, Mr. Scott."

Douchebag. Douchebag hairstyle. Douchebag friends.

The cashier points to me. "Whoa! It's the girl that got arrested for stealing a car. Shouldn't you be in jail?"  
Noah increases the pressure on my shoulder silently prompting me to respond. "I broke out."

"Nice," he congratulates with a completely straight face.

And I will never shop at the Pit-Stop again.

The cashier doesn't bat an eye at the beers, he just swipes Noah's black Amex and after enduring a lot of football terms and praise, Noah steers me in the direction of the door, but before he does, he pauses in front of the camera and kisses me on the neck. I impulsively try to swat him away but his other hand catches my wrist. Once we're outside, he guides me to his car.

"You said we'd talk outside."

"My car is outside."

I could run; I'm fast. But his grip is so firm, I don't think I can break it and by the time I did, he'd tackle me to the ground. He's not making the same mistake as he did that night at the party. He's not letting me go. Plus the knife that I'm guessing is in his pocket, and no one is stopping for slushies or gas at the Pit-Stop.

With one hand, he opens the driver's side door to his black Hummer. The perfect car for a bag of dicks. "Relax, I'm giving you a ride home and we're going to talk."

He can't drive me home, he cannot know where I live. Even though everyone knows I live in South Mystic Falls, my old address is still in the school system-_ for a reason_.

I glance at the driver's side door. "Am I going to drive us?"

"No, you're going to climb through. The other side has the child safety lock on."

"Smart," I mutter, cause I was planning on diving out of the other side and making a run for it. "You really thought through this kidnapping."

He ignores me. Once I climb in, he's quick to follow, placing the six-pack at my feet and tossing the M&Ms in my lap. "You need to put your seatbelt on," he orders.

I raise my eyebrows. He's worried about my safety now? "Seriously?"

When he nods, I buckle-up and open up the bag of M&Ms while he starts the car. Popping a few in my mouth, I glance over at him. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Noah isn't heading toward my house; this does not surprise me as he doesn't know where I actually live. I don't know why I'm not more panicked. Maybe I've gotten really good at coping with shitty situations in the past month. Maybe I'm just resigning to the fact that I have a big fucking target on my back that says '_I'm already in hell; please make me feel more at home_'.

Noah pulls over to the side of the road and parks in front of a stretch of grassy field with a few cows roaming. We're not far from the Pit-Stop or from where we live; there's a stretch of farms just outside the south part of city. Teens come out here to drink and have sex. I'm really hoping this kidnapping remains PG rated.

Noah reaches down near my legs and grabs a couple of beers, handing me one. "Is this a date?" I ask, taking the beer.

Noah smirks before popping the can open and taking a sip. "I really liked talking to you at the party, you know."

Considering the circumstances and the fact that I'm dying of thirst after my run, I take a long drink. "I did too," I smile. "Until you tried to rape me."

He downs his can of beer, glaring at me. "I didn't rape you."

"No, you didn't," I confirm. "But you would've if I hadn't gotten away."

He rolls his eyes. "I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of all of this. Can't you just let it go?"

I take another long sip of beer. "No, I can't. You could've been really drunk that night, and maybe I was the first person you've ever done that to, but maybe I wasn't and that poor girl is afraid to come forward because you're some sort of football God and they think no one will believe them. Maybe me coming forward gave her the courage to come forward too or maybe she just won't feel as alone. And in the present, hopefully, girls will be wary to accept a drink from you or be alone with you."

"You think I'm a football God?"

I literally want to throw a can of beer in his face. Maybe I will. "That's all you heard?"

He shrugs. "All the girls I've been with have said 'yes'."

"So what? I was a challenge to you?"

He shrugs again, grabbing another beer and opening the can.

"Do you still see me as a challenge?"

His hazel eyes gaze at mine. "You were pretty compliant tonight."

I glower at him. "The knife to my back was a low blow. Plus I just got done running nine miles and I don't have my phone on me. You caught me at a bad time, or right time from your POV."

"It was a pencil."

"What?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sharpened number two pencil and shrugs. "If there was even a chance of you screaming and the police getting called, I wasn't about to have a weapon on me."

Oh, lord help me. I finish the beer he gave me, feeling slightly buzzed. "I can't decide if I should stab you in the eye with that pencil or myself."

He promptly puts it back in his pocket. "I do want to show you something."

He takes out his phone and prompts a video. "I wanted to give you a heads up."

He presses play. It's a video someone took of a girl wearing a tight sparkly pink dress dancing on a coffee table, but you can clearly see me talking to Noah off to the side. I'm flirting with him and laughing. I look like I'm having fun and we look like a couple. Then I slip and Noah catches me. There's a huge stupid grin on my face and I burst out laughing. He smiles, leans in and whispers in my ear. Then he holds me to him and we disappear from the shot. The video promptly cuts out. Noah puts his phone back in his pocket. "We look cute together, don't we?" I'm going to be sick because he's right. "I'm showing that at the trial. You can end this right now, Elena. Go to the principal and tell him the truth, that we were having fun and messing around. I'm going to win and you're going to come out of the other end of this worse off. When everyone finds out you were lying, what are they going to think?"

"When you kissed my neck at the Pit-Stop, you wanted that on video too. Your friend that works there is going to give you the security video," I conclude.

"And don't we look like the happy couple? Maybe I'll find you at school tomorrow and we can post for my Instagram account," he adds.

He's getting out of this by making us look like a couple. Chase and Damon have been the main instigators in my torture at school, Noah's been pretty absent since he was benched. "You're diabolical plan is flawed. Nobody'd believe we're a couple, Noah. I'm trash, remember? Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with it. I'm perfectly happy being at the bottom of the Mystic Falls food chain."

Noah grins, blinding me with his confident pearly smile. He sits back against the door, his arms outstretched. "I'm the greatest quarterback in Mystic Falls history. I have a full-ride scholarship to Yale to play football where I'll study business before I go pro. I chose you cause you're hot, and every guy at MFH know it. But you're like scary hot, and it takes a special type of person to dare approach you."

"That's sweet and all, but you're still a rapey jackass." I shove a handful of M&Ms down my throat.

"You're going to lose," he laughs like I'm ridiculous for not taking him up on his offer.

I wash my M&Ms down with the final sip of beer. "You know what I think, Noah?"

Noah chuckles. "What do you think, Elena?"

"I heard a rumor that Damon Salvatore made a rule that no one is allowed to touch me." Noah's face pales, probably remembering the beatdown Damon gave him a couple of days ago. "What's he going to think about our relationship status? Moreover, what's he going to think when he finds out that you abducted me from the Pit-Stop?"

I watch Noah's face go from panic to contemplation, to anger. It's quite scary, the entitlement of a boy that's gotten everything he's ever asked for. "Damon Salvatore is going to find out that he's not as powerful as he thinks he is."

"Should I call him and tell him you said that?"

Noah scoffs. "Damon hates you; he's been calling you trash for years behind your back…"

"-and in front of my face," I interrupt.

"He enforced that rule because he wanted to isolate you. He wanted you to be miserable. There's no way in hell he'd ever believe you."

He's right, but Noah gave me some valuable information tonight. If there's a video of us before he took me to that room, there has to be one of me running out.

XXXXX

I have Noah drop me off at the Pit-Stop and from there I walk home. My mom isn't home, so I email Coach Dean my miles and time and fall asleep in front of the television watching episodes of _Friends_. When I wake up in the morning, the house is still quiet. She's probably on one of her boyfriend benders. She molds herself to the image of the current guy she's sleeping with and lives his life until he becomes sick of her and she comes home. Then she mopes for a week in pajamas, tells me she's going to visit dad, which she never does, and tries to have 'girl time' with me. I hate every second of it because I ruin it every single time. I can't help but ruin her mood by bringing up real issues when all she wants to talk about is the guy who dumped her.

My mom was a cheerleader and my dad was a science geek, a typical John Hughes meet-cute. She was from South Mystic Falls, not far from where we currently live; his family is one of the founding families of the city. My mom did what she does with every other guy she's been with, she molded herself to what he needed. What my mom never realized, and what I saw, was that my dad just wanted to be loved. He wanted to be appreciated for who he was. He gave her that, but she could never give that to him. If you can't accept yourself, you can't accept someone else, right? Her current cycle isn't new, it's been going on her whole life; she was just able to fool my dad longer than anyone else.

I shower and throw on jean shorts, a pale blue v-neck, and a flannel. It's nice to be able to bike to school again. It's good for cross-training and it's a great way to channel my anger. I ignore all the catcalls when I turn the corner for school, hop off my bike, and walk in. There's a crowd around my locker, and I honestly don't have the energy for this today. Like the plebs they are, they part and await my reaction. I can tell Damon is responsible for my locker today because it looks like a lot of money went into it and Damon doesn't do anything half-assed, i.e. the shitty police actors.

Today, Damon covered my locker in police tape and attached a cheap tablet to my locker that plays me getting arrested on a loop, except he cut the video so it zooms in on my face at the end, freezes the picture, and plays the theme to Cops, then the video plays over again.

I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder. Bourbon. Coffee. Mint. Damon. "Do I get to keep the tablet?" I ask, craning my neck up to look at him.

He grimaces. "If you can get it off your locker."

"You're quite skilled with iMovie," I comment. "But I'd lay off of the cross dissolve transitions and you forgot to delete the movie trailer text."

He squeezes me to him, and even though I know he's trying to mock me, it's not entirely unpleasant. "I was drunk when I put it together."

"Figures."

I shove his arm off of me and open my locker. If there's still a crowd it means I'll find something in it. Is there like a school-wide group chat that announces when my locker is going to be messed with? Do they also coordinate the names they're going to call me? Is someone selling tickets to the show? I bet Damon is. That's how he paid for the tablet. I open my locker and Damon does not disappoint. A pile, and I mean _pile_, of fake cuffs fall out of my locker. These aren't fake police cuffs. Oh, no. So not Damon's style. These are fuzzy pink and purple cuffs. I pick up one of cuffs with my index finger and swing it around. "Is this for later?" I wink at Damon, who gives me that look with the icy blue eyes and a slight curve of his lips. I ignore the warmth that fills me.

People laugh and call me Easy Elena. More pictures and video are being taken. Same old drill.

"She _is_ a skank," someone cries. More people laugh, Damon looks at me pensively, wondering what I'll do.

"Only a whore would use _that _stuff," another shouts.

I scan my audience, looking for the people that commented. One is cheerleader named Amie from my A.P. Government class. I focus on her. "I prefer the names _harlot_, _courtesan_, and _strumpet_." I sigh, and lean up against the locker next to mine, propping my left leg against it, continuing to spin the cuffs around my finger. "You know what I learned from my time in the Big House? That murderers and rapists use words like whore and skank. If you want to set yourself apart, you've gotta be a little more creative in your name-calling and less _basic_."

Amie's face reddens the color of a tomato. I toss a pair of cuffs at her which she reflexively catches. "Those'll help you take that stick out of your ass. By the looks of it, you and Zane gotta spice things up."

She drops the cuffs like a hot potato, turns around, and leaves, adamantly denying to anyone near her that she and Zane are not having sex. The bell rings and people depart, laughing and talking.

Since today's locker isn't messy, I'm able to take my books out pretty easily and head to my first class.

After a peaceful lunch under the bleachers, I head to English, taking a seat in the back of class, closest to the door. When the bell rings, Mrs. Price starts lecturing the class on the theme of love in literature. Austen and Bronte come up; Lacy brings up Fifty Shades of Grey which Mrs. Price allows to be argued about for five minutes. Someone makes a comment about Elena Gilbert knowing all about the Red Room of Pain, which I ignore.

I'm taking notes but really just doodling in my notebook when Damon walks in late. He's missed so much school because of rehab, I didn't even realize he was in this class. He hands Mrs. Price a tardy slip and sits down right next to me. He peers over to see my notebook. "Don't even try to copy my notes," I warn.

"Are you drawing a cat?"

I look back at my drawing, scowling. "It's a rabbit."

"I didn't realize rabbits have pointed ears."

"They have fluffy little cotton ball tails," I point out on the drawing.

He turns his head sideways, trying to look at the drawing from a different angle. "Huh."

Mrs. Price clears her throat. "Elena and Damon, is there anything you'd like to share with the class?"

"Elena was just informing me that she's going to be a bunny for Halloween," Damon declares.

Oh, my God.

"A Playboy bunny," Ford laughs. Other people join in. I roll my eyes and glare at Damon with so much venom I hope it poisons him.

Mrs. Price clears her throat again and wisely decides to talk over the laughter and get the lesson back on track. Andrea raises her hand. The cuff of her cream silk blouse slides down her wrist exposing a Rolex. Mrs. Price calls on her. Andrea straightens her glasses, she's ready to earn those brownie points she works so hard for. "I'm surprised no one brought up Shakespeare. In probably one of the most romantic plays, Romeo and Juliet, he wrote '_Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love_'. Unrequited love of two people who are from opposing families and fight for their love until the very end. William Shakespeare is the greatest advocate for love in literature."

The people who are paying attention nod at Andrea's words, clearly impressed by her words and recitation. Even Mrs. Price seems impressed. An unattractive bark of laughter escapes my lips, which inadvertently causes everyone in the class to turn toward me. Mrs. Price gives me a piercing look of disapproval. "Do you have something you'd like to add, Elena?"

I sigh. "'_Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love_' is from _Hamlet_, not _Romeo and Juliet_. Hamlet says it to Ophelia who can't respond because her dad refuses for them to be together. Ophelia kills herself; Romeo and Juliet kill themselves. They were kids who thought they were in love and die because of it. Shakespeare sees love as a tragedy, he makes fun of it and uses it as a plot device. He uses it in his plays to point out the class system of the 16th and 17th century in England. He's not a romantic but uses love as a way of telling his audience to not be so fucking stupid and lose your head over heightened emotion and lust."

Mrs. Price's eyes widen. I probably shouldn't have said _fuck_ in class. The bell rings and students gather their belongings. "Elena and Damon, please see me."

I'm probably going to get told off for swearing or doodling. I gather my things and walk up to her desk. Damon stands beside me, refusing to look in my direction. "Since you both missed class on Tuesday, you're going to be partners for a journal project and partners for the rest of the semester."

"Fuck," we both say under our breath.

Mrs. Price ignores us. "Every week, you'll be given two assignments to write in one notebook. I'll give you a prompt to respond to and together you'll come up with your own prompt to respond to. You may take turns coming up with prompts; on the class website are plenty of links to pages full of writing prompts if you need ideas. You're to read each other's writing and respond to it. I'm not expecting you to write anything incredibly personal. Think of this as a chat between friends. This will take some coordination of exchanging the notebook on your own time. I won't read what you write, but I will check to make sure you're writing every week. You'll be grading each other at the end of the semester."

"I can do it on my own," we say at almost the same time.

"The purpose of this project is to work on writing fluency. Plus, journaling is an important life skill. It can help you both work through," she pauses, thinking. "Issues."

"I can't journal if he's reading it," I argue. "If your objectives are to work on writing fluency and help work through issues, I can accomplish that on my own."

"Yeah," Damon agrees. "What she said."

Mrs. Price swallows and has a pained expression on her face; I think she may need to journal once we leave. "In the real world, you'll have to exchange emails with people you may not like. Consider this assignment practice." What a cop-out answer. She hands us a composition book. "Your first prompt is already pasted into your notebook. For this week, and for this week only, you only have to respond to this prompt. It's due from both of you on Friday."

I guess that's the end of our conversation. I take it and walk out of the classroom. Damon follows, walking in step with me. "I'll write in it during my next class and leave it in my locker. Since you know my locker combination, we can use it as a mailbox. You can pick it up there and I'll leave it there."

He spins around to face me, walking backward and gives me a mock salute. "Whatever you say, Bossypants."

I salute him with my middle finger and head to A.P. Government. Once I arrive, I sit in the back of class and open up the notebook. On top of the page is a typed strip of paper glued into the notebook. "Describe a ball."

Seriously? This is some new-age bullshit. Writing our feelings? There's a reason some of the best writers were depressed sons of bitches. Has Mrs. Price not heard of Sylvia Plath?

_Describe a ball._

_ Elena Gilbert_

_ A ball is a gaudy affair held by the perfect. It's shiny and glossy, like the remnants of a dream you don't want to wake from. Dolls and toy soldiers attend balls, where they dance geometric dances to music from a box painted with pale pink flowers. The food is a painting, intricately put together and displayed for all in attendance to observe. Toy soldiers are greased with plenty of champagne, while the dolls prefer to cup their refreshment in their hands and watch it slip through their fingers until is splashes on the black and white marble floor. The more champagne that's poured, the higher the glass sphere fills until all that's left are stars dancing throughout the ball._

Beneath the paragraph, I draw a picture of my ball. Before I know it, class is over and I realize I didn't hear a single word Mr. Greene said. After class, I walk to my locker, where a freshman is watching the video of me getting arrested. Once I scare her off, I leave the purple composition underneath the pile of hooker-cuffs, genuinely curious what Damon's going to come up with.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Describe balls_

_ King of Darkness_

_ Balls are the underestimated portion of the male anatomy. When giving a blow-job it's important to give the balls, or testis, some attention too. Special attention from the mouth and hands are appreciated. While manscaping is a term I despise, it is equally important that men take care of their balls if they expect anyone to touch them. I like to keep it clean down there, much like I expect the women who I go down on to keep it clean. Find an esthetician you trust, and I advise you to not fuck them unless you have a back-up spa to go to. Revenge waxing is not something I recommend, for you or your balls._

Well, I hope Mrs. Price stays true to her word and doesn't actually read our entries. Damon drew a very detailed and graphic picture that took me all of chemistry class to white-out. She may check to see if we did the work, but it's hard to miss the detailed sketch of a dick. Stones, pillar and all. Since this is supposed to be a "chat between friends" as Mrs. Price said, below his entry, in red ink I write, _Are you going to write porn for every entry? _and place the purple composition book back in my locker.

To my surprise, after study hall this morning, the composition book disappears and reappears before lunch.

_I was writing helpful advice based on personal experience, not porn. If you want porn, all you have to do is ask._

I roll my eyes and close the composition book. I'm sitting under the bleachers with my homework out, trying to get it done before my shift at the diner tonight. I'm in the middle of rewriting my notes for government when I glance over at the composition book and open it again. I bite my lip, daring myself to write what I want to write even if I may get in trouble. But this is Damon, and we've always been competitive. I don't like him thinking he has the power to embarrass me with a simple collection of written words. So I take out my red pen and respond.

_Porn is unnecessarily explicit and overtly fake. If you want perfect silicon boobs and poorly arched eyebrows, watch porn. You want real porn? Let's talk about hand porn. There are twenty-seven bones, twenty-nine joints, and at least one-hundred and twenty-three ligaments in the hand. Our fingers are more sensitive than the eyes- the fingertips have a larger number of receptors responsible for sending messages to the brain. Passing hands grazing in a crowded hall, the knuckle of an index finger lazily grazing an arm, tracing a lover's brow before cupping their cheek, hands squeezing their hips, pressing until marks are left, nails clawing down their back, a thumb teasing the bottom of a lip, clasped hands in the heat of passion, fingers circling a bundle of nerves, cradling their neck during a warm embrace, the grasp of a breast, the tips of fingers plucking a nipple….hands hold all the power. _

When I'm done with my lunch, I head to my locker to drop off books and pick up the ones I need for the afternoon. I managed to remove the police tape wrapped around my locker, but the tablet remains. I tried everything to pry it off but it won't budge, so I'm choosing to ignore it, which is especially easy to do because the battery died long ago. During my free period, I took the cuffs, attached Chase's number on each of them with a copy of his picture. Thank God for the free Xerox machine in the library. I left the box of cuffs in the girl's bathroom and wrote: "For a good time, call…". The cuffs were gone by lunch.

I need to find someone who was at the party that night who doesn't hate me. Someone who is either too oblivious or on the fringe of any social clique; I highly doubt anyone like that would've attended the party or know someone who happened to take a video of me. Then it occurs to me, I live among a generation of youth who love recording everything on social media and posting it. I don't do the Gram, but maybe someone accidentally posted a video of us. Who was that girl dancing on the table? Maybe she'd know who was around her that night.

Before I walk into English, I wait outside the doors for Chelsea Howard. Chelsea is incredibly nice and trusting, idiotically so. She's also extremely pretty and popular and would've most definitely been at the party that night. When I see her, she's walking with Ford, laughing so hard, she has to lean against his arm for support. I paste on what I hope looks like a genuine smile. "Chelsea! How are you?"

Even obviously confused, she manages to grin. Unfortunately, she's still clinging to Ford who seems to know I'm up to something. "Creepy smile, Elena."

Chelsea's big brown eyes widen, conflicted on whether she should talk to me or not.

"It's the smile she wears while she eats the hearts of the men she devours," Damon interrupts briefly before striding into class.

Chelsea squeaks and follows Damon into class.

"Thanks a lot, Ford. I was trying to be nice."

Ford raises an eyebrow. "You're not nice though."

I chew on my lower lip, watching Ford confidently walk into class, debating whether or not I should follow. I used to be nice. Some would call me sweet. The savior of he cursed and the damned. Heard of gold and all that shit. At one point, Caroline thought I was too nice and told me to toughen up. I did toughen up, but the moment I did the people I grew up around couldn't handle it. Sometimes life throws you a curveball and you realize that you're born alone and you die alone. People come and go but at the end of it, you're stuck with yourself. I think in most cases people learn this lesson when they're in their twenties or thirties. I learned it when I was fourteen.

I close my eyes, take three deep breaths, open my eyes, and walk into class. The only spot available is the desk next to Damon in the back. Before I sit down, I place the purple composition book beside his notebook. He ignores it, staring straight ahead. I try not to let the slight get to me. Part of me was hoping to catch him reading what I wrote just so I could take a picture of his shocked face and post it all over the school, but I think better of it because honestly, Damon would love his face plastered all over the school. Plus I doubt the man has taken a bad picture in his life, he's annoyingly photogenic.

Mrs. Price is discussing metaphors and imagery in poetry while I continue to doodle in my notebook. I wonder where Mrs. Price went to school. I take a few minutes to study her: prim short bob, a navy pencil skirt, and a white blouse. She's young but probably getting frustrated with her husband who doesn't want kids. She teaches high school because if she taught elementary, she'd get too attached. She likes the automatic wall she has to put up with teenagers; it keeps her safe. She probably went to a state school and taught to support her husband while he went to law school. Now that her husband is starting to make money, he doesn't want the kids he promised when they first got together. He doesn't want to have any attachments before he trades up.

Mrs. Price distracts me from my thoughts by handing out worksheets to the front row for those students to pass back. "I'd like you to get with your journal partners and analyze _A Dream Within a Dream_, by Edgar Allen Poe. You have the rest of class to work on this assignment."

Damon and I both groan but he still turns his desk around so it's directly in front of mine. I've read this poem before, so when he hands me the worksheet, I start taking notes on the side of the paper while Damon reads it through.

I glance in Damon's direction; he's subconsciously bobbing his head up and down and his eyebrows knit in concentration. When he's done, he catches me staring but doesn't seem to mind. "That's a good poem."

"I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth," I remark in surprise.

He shrugs. "Poe is a literary badass."

Huh. "What do you think it's about?"

"A love lost," he replies simply.

"I think there's more to it than that, he's romanticizing a relationship that never truly existed, which is why he thinks it was all a dream."

Damon shakes his head like I'm a simple idiot. "He's mad because he let the girl go and now that the memory of her and their time together is fading, he thinks it was all a dream."

"Exactly," I state. "He's romanticizing their relationship together."

"No," Damon refutes. "He's mad at how he treated her. He literally describes their relationship as a storm, where he stood idly by and instead of fighting for her, let her go."

"Maybe she's the storm that wrecked him."

"Oh, I have no doubt."

"But according to the poem, he feels like he let her go over some small wave. He couldn't save her from outside forces," I argue. "No one can."

Damon sits back, he's not looking at the poem anymore, he's looking directly at me, studying me. "He could've saved her if she trusted him. Trust is built on a foundation of friendship and honesty, which is why Poe uses sand as a metaphor," He looks back at his paper. "_And now I hold within my hand, grains of the golden sand, How few! Yet how they creep, through my fingers to the deep," _He recites before looking at me. "She's the sand, she's the thing he couldn't hold onto because there was no foundation for their relationship, and now he's wondering if all their memories are real or just a dream."

The combination of the intensity of his words and the look that he's giving me causes my eyes to well up. I don't think he's talking about Poe. I need to talk to Mrs. Price about changing partners. I can't do this, not with him. I distract myself by looking at my paper, even though I can still feel his gaze. I need to right this ship before I completely lose it. "Poe is saying goodbye; he's letting go of something that never truly existed. I think a lot of people fall into the trap of romanticizing relationships and making them out to be more than they were. He obviously couldn't hold onto her, so he let her go."

Damon rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds like, predictable before the bell rings. Without acknowledging me, he packs up his items, turns his desk around, and leaves.

XXXXX

After English, I tried to talk to Mrs. Price about changing partners but ended up getting a resounding _no_. Then she lectured me on my unexcused absence and warned me that there are consequences to skipping out on school. Even though it was fun at the time, I'm starting to thoroughly regret moving Damon's car to his uncle's cabin in the middle of a school day. I need to add getting him back for getting me fake arrested to my to-do list, just below finding alumni from one of the colleges I want to go to.

I was surprised to find the purple composition notebook back in my locker. I didn't want to open it in front of everyone in case Damon inserted a camera in my locker (I wouldn't put it past him) so I nonchalantly slip it in my bag and head to Patty's on my bike. I park and lock my bike in the back before heading to my locker. I'm slipping off my shoes to change into the ones I wear while doing dishes, and am about to open up the composition book when someone opens the locker next to mine. No one has the locker next to mine; I know this because I usually put my backpack in it. The lockers are so small, they don't fit all of my stuff so I use two. It's never been a problem. When I turn to see who the new person is, I'm slightly taken aback. He's cute, cute boys do not work at Patty's, they work at the Mystic Grill or focus on sports and their studies because they don't need a job.

"I'm Rafe Powell," he says, extending a hand. His green eyes twinkling. He looks like he plays water polo or one of those rich people sports, like rowing. That's who he looks like, one of the Winklevoss twins from the _Social Network_. Blond hair, green eyes, strong arms, and he towers over me. I wonder if Rafe got a multi-million dollar settlement from Mark Zuckerberg too. Nah, if he did, he wouldn't be working here.

I take his hand and shake it. "Elena Gilbert."

He holds onto my hand for longer than normal, meeting my gaze. I feel heat creep up my neck. Jesus. Dimitri must've turned up the heat on the ovens or something because it's hot in here. Maybe he's barbecuing something too; I'm barbecuing.

"Wait," he pauses. "I know you; you're that girl everyone talks about." _Here we go._ "The one that was hurt by that football player."

Did I hear that right? No one, and I mean no one, has ever referred to me as the victim. I'm the liar, the one that got Noah benched, I'm not the one that was hurt by what happened.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you," he adds.

Something is off about everything. "Are you new here?"

He nods. "Moved the day before school started; I still have boxes in my room."

Well, that explains it. We must not have any classes together. "I'm sorry."

He chuckles. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because you moved to Mystic Falls and are working at Patty's Diner," I argue.

He turns his back to me and pulls his shirt off and I'm momentarily caught off guard by the abs. I can't afford to be distracted right now, but I really, really want to touch them. His abs and I need to become friends. He replaces it with a Patty's Diner shirt, which is unfair because girls have to wear the stupid polyester uniform. Boys: shirt and jeans. Totally sexist.

He ignores my blatant gawking. "I like Mystic Falls so far. I mean, it's not Palo Alto, but it's quaint and the people are nice."

"Give it another month and you'll be singing a different tune," I remark. "You're from Palo Alto?"

He sits on the bench to tie his shoelace. "My mom worked at the Precourt Institute for Energy at Stanford before getting scooped up by Salvatore Investments."

"Your mom sounds incredibly smart," I remark.

The look in his eyes at the mere mention of his mother tells me everything I need to know about their relationship. "She's the best."

I put my apron around my neck and loop the string around my waist. I catch Rafe watching. "You do dishes here?"

"Yup." Is all I manage to say.

"I thought you were a waitress."

"No, I leave that job to the pretty people," I laugh. "Chloe will show you the ropes, she should be here soon."

I gather my hair and twist it into a bun. Rafe is still sitting on the bench. "We should be friends," he concludes.

"Oh, really? I don't know if you heard but I don't do the friend thing and I'm not going to start gathering them during my senior year."

"Seems kinda lonely."

"They don't call me the Lone Ranger for nothin'."

"I haven't heard you called that particular nickname."

I still. I don't know what this is, but if he's heard my other nicknames, he's been corrupted and cannot be trusted. For all I know, he could be a plant and will report to Noah, Damon, or Chase as soon as he's back out front. Scratch that, not Damon; Damon _wants_ me to be lonely.

I take out my phone before shoving my backpack in an empty locker. I connect my earbuds to my phone and place it in my back pocket so I can listen to music while I wash dishes. "Well," I say, heading over to the dish station. "Good luck out there."

The dishes don't stop piling in until close to midnight. Craig let a group of tourists stay past closing, so I had to wait around for them to leave. I was singing along to _Devil's Haircut _and dancing while washing a soup pot when I catch Rafe dropping off dishes and laughing. This only encourages me, so I sing louder and move my hips to the music. When the song is over, he gives me over-exaggerated applause and cups his hands to his mouth shouting for an encore. I take out my earbuds, pocket them, and bow.

"There's a party tomorrow night after the game; we should go," Rafe suggests, sitting in the fold-out chair I sit in when we're slow- which is never.

"Not going to happen." I pick up the dishes he just placed on the rack and scrape off the food into the trash.

"Come on, it's at the Salvatore mansion. Should be fun."

Maybe he hasn't heard _everything_ about me otherwise he'd know that I'd rather avoid that hell hole. "I work tomorrow night."

"Yeah, so do I. We can go after. I checked the schedule, you get off early tomorrow."

I get off early because I have a cross country meet the next morning. However, it would be an opportune time to find anyone who might've taken a video that night. I might be able to find Pink Sparkly Dress and see if she remembers who was taking a video of her.

"If there's a single moment you're miserable, I'll take you out of there and we can go wherever you want," he offers.

"That'll give you like a five-minute window to enjoy the party."

He shrugs. "I'll be sure to soak up five minutes of fun."

"Better practice your beer-chugging abilities."

"I'll play the fasted game of beer pong ever."

I rinse the plate off and place it in the rack. "Fine."

He raises his fist in the air and dramatically brings it down. "Yes!"

"Do you play water polo?" I ask.

He frowns, surprised. "Random question."

"I'm curious."

"No, but I have a scholarship to row for Stanford next fall."

I knew it. Such a Winklevoss twin.

XXXXX

My mom is still gone. The pinch in my gut tells me that this isn't good, but I choose to ignore it. She's been gone for weeks at a time; I'm sure this cowboy took her back to his ranch and she's learning how to make cornbread and brand cows or whatever shit cowboys do. He'll realize she can't cook and doesn't know who Willie Nelson is and send her on her way packing. He's older, so maybe he has more patience than the guys she's been with. I give it a couple of weeks before I start to worry.

After a long shower, I take out my homework when I see the purple composition book. I sit on the bed and open it up, but all that's there are our replies to Mrs. Price's lame ass journal prompt. The next page has been torn out. I guess it embarrassed Damon and made him so angry, he threw it away. I sigh and reread his entry. Even though he's writing about the male anatomy, Damon's not a bad writer. I expected his entry to look more like a text message, complete with emojis. I place the composition book back in my backpack and start my other homework.

I wake up sprawled on my bed, using my chemistry book as a pillow. A highlighter is still in my hand. I drop the highlighter and rub my eyes. It's Friday. I made it. Maybe I'll treat myself to a five-dollar coffee this morning. I groan. Who am I kidding? I can't splurge when I have bills to pay. It starts with the five-dollar cup of coffee, then I'm buying expensive jeans I can't afford, and then I'm officially my mother. Vending machine coffee isn't that bad.

I shower and because I'm going to the party tonight, blow out my hair. It'll end up in a ponytail, but at least it'll look like a sleek ponytail. I throw on jean shorts and a black tee and lace up my converse sneakers. Then I go back to my closet and pick out a dress for tonight that I can shove in my backpack so I can change at the diner. While I didn't have anything to wear for the college fair, I do have a short black dress with spaghetti straps. I did not pick it out; my mom bought it but realized it didn't fit her so she gave it to me. I could go into my mom's room and steal shoes, but I really don't want to find out what she's hiding in there. If I see what I think I may see, I'd end up staying home all day, curled up in the fetal position on my bed. I opt for the converse sneakers I'm already wearing.

There's an odd mood at school when I walk in. Today's game day, so cheerleaders are in their uniforms and football players dress up, wearing a shirt and tie; other people are wearing school colors to show their support. Girlfriends or boyfriends of players wear their significant others' jersey. Lockers are decorated by members of the pep squad. It's all very Varsity Blues. All of this hoopla is normal, it's the way that people look at me when I walk through the halls. Normally, I'd endure name-calling or catcalls, but today it's glares and whispers. Some people are huddled in a circle reading a newspaper, which is also very odd.

No one is huddled around my locker today, which is slightly ominous. I just have a feeling, this pounding of my heart, that's telling me something is going on and I'm at the center of it. It's not the usual antics of destroying my locker or calling me a skank, it's something that will actually affect me. I don't even know what it is but I feel my cheeks start to heat.

"I want you to wear this today."

I lean my head against the cool metal of my locker and take a deep breath before I turn around. Noah hands me his jersey and leans in for a picture. Ford and Chase are laughing, both in a white button-up shirt, ties, and slacks. Noah wraps his arm around me lamely holding his jersey in my hands while Chase takes a picture before I toss Noah's jersey back at him. "Haven't you heard?" Ford, who was always the least horrible of the three, hands me a paper. "You're famous."

Noah's arms are around me. He leans down and kisses my forehead. "Now she's Insta-famous. I have two-hundred-fifty thousand followers who are going to love to know who wrangled my bachelor soul."

I step out of Noah's clutches and look for the article they're talking about. Smart and wise Elena would crumple the paper up and throw it in Ford's face. Smart and wise Elena would take the paper into the bathroom where she could read it in the privacy of a stall. Dumb as fuck Elena reads the article in front of a bunch of football players. It's an article out of the Mystic Falls Courier, _Timberwolves Trouble:_

_ Mystic Falls High School has been ranked number one in the state in football for the last three years thanks to star athlete, Noah Scott. Already accepted to the prestigious Yale University on a football scholarship, this straight A student and dedicated athlete has been benched for the last two games due to unfounded accusations of sexual assault from MFH senior, Elena Gilbert. "There's no evidence to support Ms. Gilbert's claims," says the Scott family lawyer, Brian Fell. "She showed the police pictures which were deemed inadmissible due to the fact that there wasn't a witness when she took the pictures. Upon further investigation by the Mystic Falls Police Department computer forensics team, her pictures were found to be faked. Furthermore, after questioning several students that attended the said party, no one saw Ms. Gilbert and my client leave alone."_

_ The police department handed the issue over to Mystic Falls High School's administration, who scheduled a student trial for the end of the month. "In a lesson of civic responsibility and government procedures, having a student lead trial is a great way to get students involved," says Principal Michael Hale. _

_ Noah Scott doesn't blame Elena Gilbert for her actions. "Elena Gilbert has had a hard life," says Noah Scott. "Her brother committed suicide, her mom is a known floozy, and her dad is in jail on drug charges. I just want to be there for her during this hard time. I like her a lot and had fun talking to her during the party. She makes me smile and I hope that she knows she can always come to me if she's ever struggling."_

_ Doctor Grayson Gilbert, a town founding family member, was arrested and sentenced to twenty years in jail for drug possession and trafficking. This all happened on the heels of his son's suicide. Jeremy Gilbert overdosed on benzodiazepine. If you or a loved one is struggling, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255._

_ Noah Scott is scheduled to play football tonight._

I don't have any words, instead, the well of tears that have been building since yesterday threatens to burst. "Ummm…." I swallow, still looking at the newsprint. I'm going to get ink on my handsfrom the way I'm clutching the paper. There's a picture of Noah in his jersey before a game. Black spots start to appear from staring at the type. Noah implied that I'm suicidal. I shift my feet. "Ummm…" I hear a tremor in my voice. Come on Elena, think of something to say. Some witty comment that makes them think you don't care; that this didn't bother you at all.

Unable to look at the paper any longer, my eyes flick up. Damon's there, not standing in the circle of football players surrounding me, but just outside the circle. Our eyes meet. He's not smiling or making a sarcastic comment, in fact, he's steely. Suddenly, I can see him in ten years commanding a board room or running an organized crime division of SI, I can't decide which at the moment. Even though he's not mentioned, this article almost affects him as much as it does me. This article drudges up the past and completely discredits me. I'm eighteen and it's open season on Elena Gilbert. One girl, who doesn't even know if she can make rent next month, against high power attorneys, a school that's pissed because she got their star athlete benched, and a town that hates her family because we dirtied a founding family name.

Damon strides forward and plucks Noah's football jersey from his hands. "You don't want to give this to Easy Elena, Noah. You don't know where she's been," Damon admonishes. "Save it for your pep squad girl, Julie- or is it Jamie? I don't know, it's the one that I fucked before you decided to take her to a hotel."

Ford barks out a laugh and claps Damon on the shoulder. "Are we still partying at your place or are you still on lockdown after rehab?"

Damon looks at him like he's crazy. "Daddy dearest is on business in South Korea for the next week with the pilates instructor."

"The hot one?"

"Is there such thing as an ugly pilates instructor?"

While they're all distracted, I grab my books and slip away. Rafe catches me in the hallway. "Hey," he says, walking in step with me. "I finally found you."

I wipe my hands under my eyes and take a deep breath, slowly exhaling. "Well, we do go to the same school. It was bound to happen."

"You must be in all the smart classes; if my mom didn't work for Stanford and I didn't get a scholarship on the crew team, I would be going to state school."

I shake my head. "Stanford doesn't early admit everyone. You're either really smart or incredibly good at rowing a boat."

Rafe chuckles. "Are we still going to the party after work?"

After what just happened? "Yes, for five minutes."

"We'll go in, steal the silverware, and run out."

"Don't forget the candlesticks!" I remind. "Those'll fetch a pretty penny on the market."

He chuckles. "Look at us, moving product."

"I think you got your illegal operations terminology mixed up."

"My bad," he bumps me with his shoulder genially. "I really need to finish the Sopranos."

I pause and point to a hallway on my left. "Well, time to part ways, I'm heading this direction."

I start to walk toward class. "Hey, Elena!"

I turn to see Rafe standing in the middle of the hallway. He's so huge, people just walk around him. "I'm really excited for tonight!" He yells.

"See you later, weirdo!" I yell back.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I lay beneath the bleachers staring up at the sky through the slates of metal. The air still smells like dew and lemonade; the heat of summer still lingers. Not for long though, soon the days will be shorter and the trees will turn brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow. The leaves will fall, and the tree limbs will look skeletal and ominous before they turn into winter lace. The school will start selling Timberwolves scarves and blankets for games, where they'll bundle up and eat kettle corn while cheering.

The bleachers will be full of adoring and enthusiastic fans. They'll talk about Noah Scott and they'll be fearful of the prospects of for the years to come without him. They might mention a junior who has potential, but their conversation will turn back to Noah and his record-breaking career as a high school football player. They'll speculate which NFL team he'll go to and hope that he always remembers Mystic Falls; maybe he'll come back for the homecoming games. My name might come up, but I'll just be referred to as another bad apple on the Gilbert family tree. Grayson should never have married _that _lady. She dirtied the family name, infected the entire batch.

My lunch lay forgotten next to me while I use my backpack as a pillow. I can push it into the back of my mind. I can focus on my immediate threats: college, the trial, my mom, but an old forgotten wound, buried under piles of boxes filled with more immediate pressing issues is a memory. Letting my brain touch this memory scares me because if I allow myself to recall this one, others will come to the surface leaving me vulnerable. Open season on Elena Gilbert. I wouldn't even be able to make it to class, they'd have to check me into a hospital because I'd go catatonic. But this memory escapes.

It's simple really, deceptively so. I'd just gotten back from a run and opened the fridge to take out a bottle of water. The cool water slid down my throat. I was so thirsty, I downed the bottle quickly. Then I opened another bottle, placed it on the kitchen island while I got out the blender to make a smoothie. I was addicted to peach smoothies. Frozen peaches, a frozen banana, cinnamon, honey, coconut milk, and a little ice. I assembled all the ingredients and started putting them into the blender. I accidentally added too much cinnamon, so I had to counter the recipe by adding another banana and more peaches, otherwise, the smoothie would taste gritty.

Jeremy had football practice, I had to walk him to the field at the middle school because Dad was in the office. He had a lot of patients that day, even though it was a Saturday. Mom spent the weekend with some friends. She'd been doing that a lot lately, I'd get home from school and she wouldn't be here. I'd make French toast for dinner; I'm a shit cook, but breakfast foods seem to be my only area of expertise.

Jeremy would never admit it, but he loved my smoothies. He liked the concoctions I came up with and joked that I'd make a great bartender one day. He liked to call the smoothies cocktails and one time bought little umbrellas to decorate our drinks. I planned to give Jeremy the other half of my peach smoothie, he'd need it before practice. He'd been skipping practices lately, and no one could really blame him. The coach has been giving him a break but dad thought it'd be a good way for him to work through his problems.

I took out two tall glasses and poured them to the top. I pulled out my earbuds so I could take it to him and bug him about getting dressed for practice when I realized the stillness of everything. There wasn't any noise. No rustling of a twelve-year-old lazily getting up on a Saturday morning. Video games weren't being played loudly. The horrible emo music he loved wasn't coming from his room. I spun around the kitchen with the glasses in my hands, nothing had been touched, it was like I walked into the wrong home because this one was empty. Void of life. The tumblers of peach smoothing crashed to the floor, leaving a painting of yellow and pink across the tile.

It was a small memory. A blip really. But it still surfaced and if that one came up so easily, how easily will the others? The darker ones. The ones that followed and the catalyst that preceded everything. I can't eat peaches anymore and we no longer own a blender.

XXXXX

"You look like you're going to pass out," Rafe comments, placing a stack of dirty plates in a bucket for me to wash.

I wipe the sweat gathering on my forehead with my forearm. I haven't eaten all day and even though I'm supposed to rest up before the meet tomorrow, I went for a run during my free period. "I'm fine." My voice comes out clipped and short. I immediately feel bad. Rafe has only been nice to me, he hasn't mentioned the article that was floating around school all day. I know he saw it, but he hasn't made any indication that he wants to know more. I should at least be nice back.

Rafe plops down on the fold-out chair while I scrape off dishes. "Where do you eat lunch? I've never seen you in the cafeteria."

I sigh, I really don't want to talk about this. I kind of want him to leave right now but I try to remind myself that this is a perfectly normal conversation to have. We're just two high school students who work together, but it doesn't keep me from lying. "I work in the library during lunch."

"You work too hard," he comments genially. "It's okay to take a break during the day, Elena."

How do I tell him that I need a break from everyone in the middle of the day? Maybe I should just be honest and see how that goes over. "I'd rather just eat and work on my own, that's how I destress in the middle of the day."

He bobs his head up and down. "I get that."

Good, because it's not changing.

Rafe looks at his watch momentarily. "Our shift is almost over, did you still want to go to the party?"

He's asked me at least a dozen times and the answer has been the same every time. Maybe he regrets asking me and keeps hoping the answer will change. He probably read the paper and realized I'm only ever going to be a downer. I'll never be the teenage girl movies and television portray. "If you ask me again, the answer is going to be different than it's been the last twenty times you asked. Would you like to ask again?"

He frowns and genuinely looks upset. Fuck. I'm used to dealing with douchey football players and Damon, not rowers who love their mothers. How do I resurrect this? I think I forgot how to socialize during my years of isolation.

I put the dish I was working on down, and move so I'm standing closer to him. "Rafe, I'm sorry. This is no excuse, but it's been a long day."

Rafe grabs my wrist and looks up at me, tugging me closer to where he's sitting. "I just really want to be your friend."

He does not want to_ just_ be my friend. The way he's holding my wrist isn't painful, it's more like he's trying to grab onto a piece of me since I'm giving him nothing emotionally. I can't help but compare the touch to Damon, who so expertly— and temporarily, made me crave his touch with a simple caress of the inside of my wrist. Thinking about it makes me flush, giving Rafe the wrong idea as he tries to tug me closer. Instead, I twist my hand and take a step back toward the sink, effectively distancing myself. "I'll have to take a whore's bath in the bathroom, but I'll be ready," I joke.

He chuckles. "What's a whore's bath?"

"Using hand soap and paper towels to wash the stink off," I reply, washing a plate and putting it on the rack.

"I don't think you need to worry about that."

"You'll think otherwise once you're locked in a car with me."

Rafe stands up and heads for the two-way door. "Well, break over. Gotta go wait on horrible high school students who just got out of the game."

"If a girl only orders a Diet Coke, give her a real one," I advise. "She needs the calories. You'd be saving a life."

He shakes his head, grinning and leaves.

An hour later I'm in the bathroom changing into my dress and getting ready for the party. After cleaning up and applying a generous amount of lotion that smells like lemons and sugar, I pull my hair back into a sleek ponytail, apply mascara and lipstick and call it a day. After placing all of my items back in my backpack, I find Rafe by the backdoor wearing exactly what he wore to school today, a red v-neck and jeans. "That's so unfair," I complain, pointing at his outfit. "Boys can just waltz in wearing jeans and a shirt but girls have to change their entire ensemble to go out."

He wisely ignores me. "You look great." Rafe's eyes track me from top to bottom. A smile creeps to his lips when he sees my shoes. "Nice shoes."

"My glass slippers are in my other walk-in closet," I reply, dryly.

I rode my bike to the diner, but I'm planning on leaving it there overnight. I'll get it tomorrow morning before my meet. Rafe opens the passenger door to his Prius and lets me in. After he gets in, he starts the car and _Such Great Heights_ by The Postal Service plays. "This is a good running song."

"What's a good running song?"

"One with a good beat and helps me forget that I have five miles left in my run," I explain.

"This is the playlist I listen to when I row."

"I approve of your taste in music."

"I appreciate that."

This is nice. I think I have our kinda-friendship back on track. Though, I couldn't have blamed him if he blew me off after the way I've been treating him all afternoon.

We have to park a block outside of the party because there are so many people here. When we walk up the circle drive, I can hear music playing. People are sprawled out on blankets on Damon's front lawn drinking from coolers placed strategically around the yard. Only Damon would be so arrogant that he'd flagrantly have a set up where teenagers are drinking on his front lawn where anyone could drive by and report it. But the Salvatore mansion is on acres of property, so I doubt anyone would drive by anyways.

Rafe takes my hand as we walk in. He says hi to people, while I hide behind him. It's so not like me, but I like Rafe thinking of me as a loner dishwasher, not the topic of gossip. Rafe doesn't seem to mind, instead, he tucks be beside him and grabs us both a chilled Corona. He takes a sip of his beer. "Do you want to leave yet?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine. Damon has a sitting room slash library, let's go in there."

Taking his hand, I guide him through the party, keeping my eye out for Pink Sparkly Dress or anyone dancing on tables, but I think I'm going to have to stay for at least another hour and wait for people to get drunk enough that they start doing things they may regret in the morning.

We reach a closed oak door but the knob is stuck. Rafe stands beside me, serving as a sort of lookout. "Are you sure we can go in here?"

"Yeah, it's fine. You just need to jiggle the knob the right way," I say, moving the archaic brass knob up and down and then pushing on the door, it opens. I mentally high-five myself. I've still got it.

We walk in and no one is around, so I leave the door open. I don't want Rafe to get any ideas, but since I have to wait this party out, I'd rather be away from anyone who'll talk about the newspaper article. I turn on the desk lamp, which illuminates the room in a warm light. I used to love this room, I'd come in here whenever I needed a moment of peace or had homework to do. Rafe follows me in. "This is like something out of the Godfather."

I gaze at all of Giuseppe's old books, running my fingers along the spines. "You and your mafia references."

Rafe sits down on the leather couch, his eyes wandering around the room. "Old money," he mutters.

I catch his words but don't respond because behind all this old money is a lot of pain and abandonment. "How do you know about this room?"

"I like to explore: found it during one of his parties," I lie- well, partially.

Rafe pats the seat next to him, instead of sitting there, I sit in the armchair adjacent to his seat on the couch. "Why are you working at the diner? You have a new Prius, it doesn't seem like you're exactly strapped for cash."

"My mom," he answers. "She comes from a lot of money and thought a job would keep me grounded. I've been working since it was legal."

That must be nice, having a caring parent. Someone's living the dream. "Why are you a dishwasher?" He counters.

I take a long swig of my beer, thinking of the best way to answer that one. "Upper body strength training."

He laughs into his beer, which makes me smile. He's really very cute and sweet. I hope MFH doesn't corrupt him. He leans over and squeezes my bicep. "Seems like it's working."

"Oh yeah, I can lift my body weight in dishes." I flex my arm, and he gives me an exaggerated look that shows me he's very impressed. "So, do you have one of those rowing machines from the 1980s that you practice on?"

"Actually, yes," he confirms. "But I have a coach and we practice in the morning on the Mystic River."

"How early?"

He holds up his hand and wiggles around five fingers.

I finish my beer. "Damn."

"I could take you," he offers. "Not at before school but on the weekend."

It actually sounds fun. "Sure."

My simple reply shocks the hell out of him. So much so that I sorta regret agreeing to go.

"Tomorrow morning?"

"I have a cross country meet tomorrow."

Rafe leans back into the couch, his beer bottle lays on the coffee table. Years of being in this house make me want to grab a coaster from the top drawer in the side table. "I didn't know you were on the team."

"You didn't see the balloons attached to my locker wishing me luck?"

He shakes his head. "Are you going to want to actually go out into the party or are we going to hide out in here? I'm okay with either."

I put my index finger and thumb an inch apart. "Hideout just a little longer."

He stands up and takes the empty beer bottle out of my hand. "I'll get us a couple more beers."

Once he leaves, I stand up and start to snoop. I walk over to the mahogany desk; the globe is still there. It's old, still has the U.S.S.R. on it, but I love looking at it. I spin the globe around, letting my index finger trail the surface, trying to find our spot. Damon and I had to do a country report together when we were in the sixth grade. We chose Greece and spent hours developing a travel brochure for our report. He promised me we'd go someday. I told him we should run away that Friday.

"We should've run away." Surprised to hear my thoughts vocalized, I turn to see Damon leaning in the doorway wearing a white tee and low slung dark wash jeans.

I fold my arms and lean against the desk. "You never would've gone."

He shrugs, folding his arms. We're both gearing up for battle. "_You_ would've?"

"I was spending a lot of time at your house for a reason, Damon. You know that."

He nods in understanding and strides towards me. "What are you doing here?"

"Being a teenager; getting drunk."

"Bullshit."

"Hiding," I reply, honestly.

"You should go," he orders. "Nothing good will come with you being here."

"What's going to happen, Damon? Are they going to steal my bike? Get me fake-arrested? Call me names? Put bits of my personal life in the paper?" I'm standing now straight up, my fists clenched, my voice getting louder with every word. "Is someone going to sexually assault me?" Damon doesn't say anything, instead, he moves closer. "Mystic Falls is hell, at least here the beer is free."

His hand grazes my clenched fingers, and his touch is so tender and familiar, I can't help but open up. His fingers lightly twine with mine. "I'm sorry about the newspaper article," he soothes.

I feel myself breaking, the wound from this morning opening back up. I break his grip on me and take a step back, folding my arms. "You didn't write it."

He lets out a breath. "You've got that look in your eyes," he points out, the tone of his voice completely different from moments before.

"What look?"

"Like you're going to chew out anyone that comes across your path."

I shake my head. "That's just the effect you have on me."

He chuckles. "Nah, it means your hungry. You'd practically be spitting fire after school until Luciana made you something. I don't want to unleash that temper on my guests."

I scoff. Guests, more like distractions. "Does she still make those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey's kiss in the middle?"

He frowns. "She doesn't work here anymore, but I think I can find something for you. I'll be back; just stay right here."

Damon pauses by the doorway, leans a hand against the frame, and turns to look at me. "Don't even try to pick the lock to the liquor cabinet."

Then he turns to leave. As if a challenge has been issues, I go to the cabinet behind the mahogany desk when I realize Damon's being nice to me. Damon's never nice to me, at least not recently. He even said he was sorry, that should've been the first clue. Damon is never sorry, the man doesn't know how to apologize. He was very insistent on me staying right where I was, which means I need to go. Just as I dart out of the study, Rafe walks in carrying two red cups. "Let's see what's going on out there," I insist, taking him by the crook of his arm.

"I thought you wanted to hide out."

"Nope. No more hiding. I want to dance."

Rafe doesn't object as I guide him past the kitchen, keeping my eye out for Pink Sparkly Dress. I don't see her, but I do see a girl with long red hair wearing a similar dress as Pink Sparkly, but instead of pink, it's purple, dancing on a platform. She's in the game room, complete with a pool table and a large flatscreen television. Couches are moved along the wall and in the middle is a makeshift dance floor. Just outside glass doors is a view of the pool. Some people are swimming, others are drinking and making out.

Purple Sparkly Dress isn't the same girl, but people have gathered around, dancing or taking videos of her. Upon further inspection, I realize that this is no drunk high school girl. I place my red solo cup down on a table and grab Rafe by the shoulders. "Dance with me."

He grins, respectfully placing his hands on my hips. I lace my fingers around his neck and move to the beat of the song. My eyes dart around to see who's taking a video, but it's mainly students I don't recognize. "I knew you'd have fun," Rafe comments.

"Yup," I reply, keeping my eyes peeled. "So much fun."

I spot June from cross country talking to Xander Bowman. I dance with Rafe, positioning us so we're moving toward June and Xander. I stop to get her attention. "Hey, June!"

I haven't talked to June since the last Salvatore party I went to; even though she wasn't directly mean during cross country practices, she didn't say anything either. Her mouth gapes at me, clearly shocked I'd dare show my face at another Salvatore party. She looks for a way to escape me, but instead of letting her go, I lean into Rafe, who wraps his arm around me and extends his other hand to June. "Rafe."

"Hi," she stutters, taking his hand, Xander completely forgotten. That's the effect Rafe has and that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted his broad shoulders and green eyes to mesmerize June so I could talk to Xander, who's on the basketball team. He secretly hates the football players because they steal all the glory but can't outwardly hate them because most of the basketball players are also football players. His passion is basketball, and only basketball. Xander is a complicated fellow, we temporarily bonded during a group project last year.

Rafe starts talking to June, and I think shots were mentioned, but I'm too busy trying to get Xander's attention without being obvious. Finally, I bite the bullet and step away from Rafe to talk to Xander, who's eyes are now glued on the dancer. "She's a good dancer," I observe.

He turns his head to the side and smirks. "You could get up on that table and dance with her if you want."

"Oh yeah, because I need even more attention than I'm getting." I see a few phones out, filming. "Isn't she embarrassed that people are filming her?"

Xander shakes his head. "She's getting paid, so I don't think she minds. Besides, it's just Freshmen. They're never invited to these parties, but we won tonight so Damon was feeling generous."

"Paid?" I glance back at the dancer, she's shaking her hips and running her hands all over herself. Her head hair swishing with every move. Same kind of dress as Pink Sparkly Dress, and platform heels that look like they're made of plexiglass. "Damon hired strippers," I conclude.

"He does for every party. Gets them from the Dancing Pony. It's kind of genius actually, he stations them throughout the property to get people dancing and having fun."

"Yeah, I think Damon's planning on being a party planner after he graduates," I reply dryly. "The Bar and Bat Mitzvah circuit will be his bread and butter."

When the song ends, the Purple Sparkly Dress girl hops down from the table to talk to one of the Freshmen taking a video. "But here's the thing," Xander continues. "You're not allowed to video unless you've talked to the stripper and paid her extra. Kind of like you'd have to pay extra for a lap dance. Damon gets a cut and they keep the rest."

"So what, Damon's like their pimp?"

"No, no," he laughs. "There are underage kids here. It's his way of keeping tabs on everyone and his parties exclusive and private."

"But I could take my phone out and start filming and I doubt anyone would notice."

"It's Damon Salvatore," Xander states. "You don't fuck with him."

I roll my eyes. Sounds like Damon's dipping his toes into organized crime, or he's just a boring control freak. "Eleeeeena!" Rafe yells like my name is the most exciting thing in the world. June must've gotten him to do shots. "I love this song, let's dance."

He takes me by the waist and starts moving me away from Xander, who looks like he could care less. June's face contorts into fury; I suddenly have visions of her elbowing me and knocking me over during the race tomorrow.

Rafe is all over me, his hands much lower than they were earlier. I shouldn't have left him with June, that girl can talk anyone into taking a shot of tequila. That's her game. She's one of the few high school students that know how to do it properly, so she teaches you and then your making horrible decisions in front of a group of people that secretly hate you.

Now my ride is drunk. Great. Rafe presses his body against mine as we dance to some rap song that came out in the late nineties. He's not a bad dancer. We're having fun moving and singing to the lyrics, both getting them all wrong when the music suddenly stops. Everybody looks at one another and then for the around the room trying to find the source of the sudden silence. Damon strides into the room carrying a plate with a napkin on top and a box of juice. No one questions it, instead, he strides over to me. People part for him, their king, their ruler who threw this lavish party. Rafe holds me close to him, his hands firmly clasped to my waist.

Damon doesn't address me, instead, he glares daggers at Rafe. "Who are you?"

"Rafe Powell," he answers, suddenly sober.

"You're the new kid," Damon confirms. "Your mom's an engineer for Salvatore Investments. You've been asking about Elena Gilbert for the past week, wanted to know where she worked, what she liked, where she goes after school, where she lives. You've been very curious about her. You're new, so I'm going to cut you some slack, but there are rules at Mystic Falls High School. Rule number one, don't cross me— you'll regret not staying with your dad in Palo Alto, and moving with your mom. Divorce is hard, should've stayed with Dad. Rule number two, don't touch Elena Gilbert. That's it. You do what I say and your mom keeps her job. I suggest you quit Patty's and apply for a job at Abercrombie and Fitch, seems more like your speed."

I step away from Rafe, putting myself between him and Damon. "Why do you care?" I exclaim. "It's senior year and then I'm leaving Mystic Falls forever. Can't you just let it go? Leave Rafe alone."

The look on Damon's face is positively murderous. He doesn't yell, he's calm and strategic. He hands me a plate of food and a juice box. "You need to eat and you should stop drinking, you have a meet tomorrow."

The music turns back on and Damon leaves to talk to the strippers. Everyone starts dancing again like Damon tearing Rafe a new asshole never happened. When I turn my head, I see Rafe walking away, outside. I peak under the napkin. It's Lunchables. Damon used to pack me one when he realized I bringing lunch to school. That was back when my mom stopped waking up before noon.

He shouldn't have done that. I don't care what he says to me, but being mean to Rafe was a low blow. I leave the snack on a side table and try to find Damon. This conversation is not over. I am so fucking sick of this shit. I should've taken his precious Corvette to the beach and left it there. I should've blown it up. Sold it for parts; I could use the money.

I wander through the dimly lit halls when I see a room full of football players and a few girls sitting on their laps. This house is so fucking huge, it's another entrainment room, but this one is smaller and more private. It used to be Damon and Stefan's playroom until they outgrew it. Now it has sports memorabilia decorating the walls. Multiple flatscreens along the wall so you can watch several games at once. A bar complete with every expensive liquor you can buy, and a beer tap.

Some students sit on armchairs, making out. The rest sitting around the couch, a few chairs have been pulled up in front of the flat screens. The darkness of the hallway covers me as I try to see what they're doing. One of the players move, giving me a chance to see what they're doing. My hand covers my mouth in horror and it takes everything in me to not march in there and call them all gigantic asshats. An inflatable sex doll, completely naked, with my name written across the chest in Sharpe sits on Chase's lap. "She's so much prettier when she's quiet," he says.

Noah takes a swig of his beer. "Shut up, Kate, keep reading the article."

Kate's perched on Noah's knee wearing a white mini dress, her black locks swept over one shoulder. "_There's no evidence to support Ms. Gilbert's claims_."

"I knew she faked the photos," Andrea interrupts. "Just a little make-up and anyone can make themselves look like they've been hit."

Ford wraps his arm around Andrea. "Probably fell off her bike."

Kate starts giggling so hard that Noah has to clasp his hands around her middle. Clearly, she's not sober. "Chase stole it and trashed it."

Noah replies. "Until Damon gave it back to her. She's been taking it to school for the past couple of days."

Noah's been keeping an eye on my whereabouts, that's incredibly disturbing.

Kate wears the same look of confusion she has during calculus. "Why did Damon give it back to her? I thought he was on our side."

"It was part of the whole thing that went down with her getting arrested," Noah explains.

"That was hilarious; did you guys see the video?"

Andrea laughs. "Who didn't? It was all over Instagram. My mom even saw it on her thread."

Still holding the sex doll, Chase takes a tortilla chip from a bowl and dips it in salsa. Some salsa drips on the inflated boob so he takes his index finger, swipes it up and licks it off. "Keep reading, Kate," he orders. "Skip to my Noah's part."

Kate dramatically clears her throat. "Okay— _Noah Scott doesn't blame Elena Gilbert for her actions. Elena Gilbert has had a hard life, says Noah Scott_."

Noah chuckles. "Just call me Mr. Compassionate."

Jason leans forward takes a handful of popcorn. I don't know Jason that well, he's a Junior, but he always seemed nice. He usually doesn't participate in other people's antics. "She needs to stop wearing those jean shorts if she wants to be left alone."

Jason officially made the douchebag football player list.

"She's such a smelly skank, she wears the same ones every day," Kelsea jeers.

Chase leans his head into the neck of the doll and takes a big whiff. "She smells just fine, like sugar." Did Chase just defend me? "Which is perfect for her future stripper name"

No, no he did not.

"Destiny should give her a job application."

"I'd start going to the Dancing Pony if Elena Gilbert was dancing. This legs wrapped around the pole, that job was made for legs like that."

"It's all in the genetics. Her mom is a whore and so is she."

Laughter breaks out, and I contemplate leaving. None of what they're saying is shocking, it's what I've been hearing for the past few weeks.

"Thank God you get to play again, babe." Kate places her hand on Noah's chest and kisses him on the lips. "Elena's putting you through so much. You don't deserve any of this."

Someone I don't recognize speaks up. He must be a Junior or something because he's not in any of my classes. His elbows are on his knees and his head in his hands before he looks up. "None of us deserve what her family has done. My dad went to jail for two years because her dad sold everyone out to get a reduced sentence. My dad wasn't there for my first game at MFH because of her family."

"Jo's mom got a year," someone else says. "It was in the national news, small Virginia town secret drug ring. Something like fourteen people went down because of her dad."

"We should run her out of town," Chase suggests. "She already wants to leave, let's just give her a push to make the escape early."

"Damon wouldn't like it," Kate warns. "We can't go behind his back to do this sort of thing. I've seen Damon mad and I'd rather not see it again, no matter how hot he looked."

Noah scoffs and rolls his eyes. "This whole school doesn't revolve around Damon Salvatore. I'm tired of following his stupid rules. My family doesn't rely on his and I'm set for life when I leave this town."

Andrea looks somewhat apprehensive. "We'll get him on board. He hates Elena, I doubt he'd have a problem with her leaving."

Chase takes out a sharpie and writes across the chest of the blowup doll, Damon's Bitch. Everyone laughs.

"I want to write something!" Jessica gets out of her chair to write _whore_ right above the crotch.

I was tempted to go in; tempted to make a comment that would knock them down a few pegs, maybe even punch Kate in the tit, but decide against it. They're right, my dad did sell a lot of people out. If they need to take it out on me, that's fine, but after that gauntlet was thrown, there's no fucking way I'm missing graduation.

After hearing their conversation, my mission to find Damon intensifies. The staircase toward the front of the house is blocked off, so I go up the servants' staircase by the kitchen. Yes, the Salvatore mansion has a servant's staircase and tomorrow, the servants will be the ones cleaning up this mess. Though, Damon being Damon, his room will undoubtedly be immaculate. Even as a kid, he'd clean up after me. He used to reorganize my backpack; it'd annoy the hell out of me.

The further I am away from the party, the weaker the noise is. Instead, faint hums of music flow through the walls. Damon's bedroom door is open, but it's completely dark. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a crystal Highball filled with amber liquid. Judging by the mostly empty bottle on his nightstand, I'd say there's a strong possibility he's drunk. His eyes find mine and he groans. "Go away, Elena."

I stand my ground, still in the doorway, but I stand my ground all the same. "No."

He sits up, mildly intrigued. "You weren't invited; if I thought you were coming, I would've prevented it."

"I came with Rafe- who was invited."

Damon smirks and takes another drink. "Good, then I don't have to worry about you being invited anymore. I bet come Monday, he's in Palo Alto."

He thinks he can control everything. He thinks he can just wave his hand and people will do his bidding. Running the school like he's fucking King Henry. I storm in, rage now flowing through my veins. "You can't do that, Damon. You can't punish everyone who's nice to me. Rafe's my friend, I'm allowed to have one."

Damon barks out a laugh and shakes his head like I'm ridiculously stupid. "He doesn't want to be your friend. He wants to get into your pants." His gaze falls to my dress. "Or under your dress." Damon stands and holding his glass, he points at what I'm wearing. "You need to stop shopping in Miranda's closet."

My eyes narrow. How the fuck did he know this dress is my mom's?

"What business is it of yours? Why do you care if I have friends or not? I should be able to walk down the halls hand in hand with my boyfriend."

"— your nice and respectful boyfriend," he mocks, repeating the words I said in the gym a couple of days ago.

"I shouldn't have to worry about him getting scared off by you," I continue. " Do you want me to be alone and miserable?"

"Yes." He finishes his glass and starts pouring more from the bottle on the nightstand.

I stride forward and take the bottle out of his hands before he can even unscrew the cap. "How long are you going to punish me? When is this going to stop?"

I step back, holding the bottle out of reach. He shakes his head ominously, not even trying to take it from me. "You have till the count of three to give that back."

"Not until you answer my questions."

"One."

I uncap it, take a swig right out of the bottle and cap it. "How long are you going to punish me?" I repeat.

He shakes his head, eyes full of fury. "Two"

I take a tentative step back, unsure of what he'll do.

"When is this going to stop?"

Damon has a look of murderous glee on his face. "Three."

Oh, shit. I run around his armchair, he runs in front of it, we're in a momentary standoff and Damon thinks he's going to win. "Give me the bottle, Elena."

"Not until you answer my questions," I squeal, darting in the opposite direction around Damon's California King bed, but he's a fast drunk and on my heels. I climb on the bed so I can jump off the other side, but Damon changes directions and instead of following me, runs to the other side of the bed so I have nowhere to go. Still holding the bottle with one hand, I retreat but Damon has hold of my ankle. I kick but his grip is too tight and I fall onto the bed, flat on my back as he drags me toward him.

Still trying to kick him out of the way, he momentarily releases my ankle and slowly climbs the bed, trapping me with his proximity. He straddles my waist, his arms on either side of my head, my right arm still trying to hold the liquor bottle out of reach.

He doesn't move, instead, he takes time to inspect my face. The weight of his body pressed against mine. My breathing quickens but I don't think it's from being chased around his room. As his grey-blue eyes study me, locks of his dark hair fall forward and if I weren't trapped, I'd brush it out of his eyes.

Damon's velvety lips part slightly and I can tell from his breathing that he's equally as affected. He looks tired like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and I want to ask why. I want to ask him what's going on with his dad. I want to ask him why he left rehab early.

Instead of reaching out and taking the bottle, he leans forward and places his head in the crook of my neck. He breaths in and out like I'm giving him life. He's not kissing me or trying to force himself on me, he's looking for something else. Comfort. I let go of the bottle and wrap both arms around him, rubbing his back. He's still the boy who grew up in a big empty house without a mother. He's the boy who'd let me go to his house after school because my parents were fighting. He's the same kid who packed me lunch because he knew my mom forgot. We both lost brothers. Tears pool in my eyes as I rub his back in soothing circles. Like the memory that escaped this morning, tears stream down my face as more small ones slip out. Small memories that revolve around this house, around this man.

"When are you going to forgive me?" I sob. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me," I whisper through choked tears. My chest heaves as more tears spill.

At my words, Damon freezes and suddenly jerks up, the look on his face matches the one I've seen more of in recent years. He's angry. Furious. Furious because I went there, because I dared bring up the past. Damon snatches the bottle from above my head and chucks it against the wall. I hear it burst and shatter. Bourbon drips down the wall before Damon strides out of the room, leaving me on the bed, sobbing.

That's my answer. He's never going to forgive me.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I'm sitting on Damon's bed watching bourbon that cost more than two months rent drip down the wall. I wipe my eyes with the palms of my hands. I don't know what I'm waiting for. He's not going to come back and he's not ready to have an actual conversation. Tolstoy said that we can only have peace when we forgive each other, which means Damon and I are bound by the thorns from our past. War will rage until we're both burning in a hell of our own making.

I jump off his bed and grab a trashcan, paper towels, and cleaning spray from his adjoining bathroom. Part of me wants to leave the mess he made, he certainly deserves it, but then I'd lay awake at night worried he sliced his foot so bad on shards of glass that he had to go to the hospital, but Damon's on his own right now, so he'd have to drive himself and he's drunk so he might get into an accident and kill someone else. These thoughts, laced with years of guilt, would keep me up at night, and with a cross country meet tomorrow, I can't afford to not get a good night's sleep. Damon's been hateful and unforgiving, but I don't want him to get hurt. Well, not physically. Wait…maybe I just don't want him to be permanently damaged…I don't wish him death. That's where I draw the line. Death.

I get on my hands and knees and start picking up shards of glass and throw them away. When I've picked up most of the shards, I start cleaning up the bourbon off the wall. I'm in the middle of scrubbing when Damon walks back in. I close my eyes and curse myself for staying. I thought he'd be downstairs at the party, writing names on the creepy as fuck Elena Gilbert sex doll with Chase and Noah. I thought I'd have time to clean up and leave this house of horrors.

"What are you doing?"

I glance in his direction. "My taxes."

I continue wiping cleaning fluid off of the wall with paper towels. "Might want to wait until after the new year."

"Doesn't hurt to get a head start."

Damon rubs his temples. "Elena…"

"Damon," I mock.

He drops his hands. "Get the fuck out of my bedroom."

I resume cleaning. "No, I don't think I will."

I should've left the moment he walked in, but I am avoiding going downstairs if I'm going to be honest with myself.

"You're avoiding the party."

Goddammit.

"No, I'm not." I lie.

"Then why are you cleaning up my mess?"

Damon needs information, harmless information, but information. Maybe I could use this moment to my advantage. Not to ask him anything that may set him off, but I want to understand him better. He's a dick most of the time but today he felt something that wasn't hate. I'd like to explore that. "I'll answer your question if you answer one of mine."

Damon tilts his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turn upward menacingly. "I don't have to ask you to leave, Elena. I'm perfectly capable of throwing you over my shoulders and depositing you on my front lawn."

This gives me pause because he would totally do that. As a matter of fact, he'd love to do that and I just gave him an opening. "I'd like to remind you, Damon, that I know how to get into your house any time of day, morning or night. So you can answer my itty bitty question, or we can have this conversation again tomorrow, or the next day, or the next."

It's actually not really hard to enter the Salvatore mansion, surprisingly enough. There's a tree outside of Damon's window that's easy to climb and I'm guessing by the look on Damon's face that his window still doesn't lock properly. "Okay, Elena. One question, but you answer mine first."

Damon's face looks both angry and mischievous, if I ask him the wrong question, I have no doubt my locker will be filled with used tampons on Monday. I move so I'm sitting against the wall, hugging my knees in a way that I'm not giving Damon a show. "Do you remember my tenth birthday?"

My dad got mad at my mom because she was supposed to make a cake for me. When he got home early from work and realized I wasn't going to have a birthday cake, he started making it himself. My mom came home drunk at three in the afternoon and started yelling at my dad for making me a cake. She started throwing mixing bowls filled with ingredients all over the kitchen, accusing my dad of loving me more than he loved her. I know because I was hiding under the kitchen table. I was talking to my dad before my mom came storming in. I crawled under the table, out of sight. The fight ended when my dad left the house and disappeared for the next couple of days; my mom passed out in their room. Jeremy was at Stefan's house; Damon biked with Jeremy back to our house. Damon saw me under the kitchen table and crawled under to sit with me. He tried to get me to come out but I wouldn't budge. Eventually, Damon crawled out and started cleaning up the kitchen. He cleaned up the entire mess and then crawled back under the table to sit with me. We didn't talk; he was just there, both of us sitting side by side hugging our knees.

Damon gets quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I remember."

I smile sadly, hugging my knees tighter. "I owed you one."

He shakes his head. "That wasn't your fault."

I shrug. "You still cleaned it up."

Damon moves over to his bed and sits on the edge. I could ask him about the strippers he hired. I could ask him why he was only in rehab for a couple of weeks. I could ask him about his Dad. I could ask him what he wants to do next year, what he really wants to do, not what his father wants him to do. I have a million questions for him, but after eavesdropping on the conversation between Chase, Noah, and their friends, there's one question that I need to know the answer to.

"If I could leave Mystic Falls tonight, never to return, would you want me to go?"

Damon's told me plenty of times that he wants me to leave town, and most of the time I yell back that I wish I could. However, this isn't being asked out of anger or spite, I'm genuinely curious. Damon cocks an eyebrow, a smirk plays on his lips. "Now, what fun would that be?"

"So, I'm a source of entertainment for you?"

"This is a small and boring town, Elena," using his index finger, he points to the door. "Now get the fuck out of my room."

I don't leave and I know I'm waring on Damon's patience but I don't really care. I continue to wipe up the floor with a paper towel, picking up smaller shards of glass. "Isn't there a song about a sad person not going to their own party?"

"There are lots of songs about hate. Happy to create a playlist for you," he mutters dryly.

"—_Here_, by Allessia Cara, that's it. Except, I think that one is more about hiding out at a party where you don't feel you belong. The sheer loneliness of watching everyone have fun but knowing you haven't connected to a single one on an emotional level," I goad. At the rate I'm going, there are definitely going to be used tampons in my locker on Monday.

I glance back at the bed. Damon's looking at the ceiling, thinking. "I'm definitely putting _Gives You Hell_ on your playlist. _Creep_ is going on there as well."

"If you're going to put Radiohead on my playlist, then you have to balance it out with _Bad Blood_."

"I am not putting Taylor Swift on a playlist."

"Ha— you knew which artist I was talking about."

"Then The Clash is going on your playlist."

"I'm okay with that."

I throw away the used paper towels and gather all the items together to put them away. "Are you going to leave or to I have to physically remove you?"

I ignore him, put all of the items away in his bathroom and wash my hands. The moment I step out, I'm hauled into the air and flipped over. "Damon!" I screech.

"I tried to warn you," he replies, walking me out of his room. I do not go quietly, I punch him as hard as I can with my fists, which is harder than you might think upside down. Damon ignores me. Stupid jerkface.

"I'll leave, I'll leave," I yell, but he ignores me and continues to stride with me using every swearword I know in every filthy combination I can think of. He merely chuckles and much to my horror continues down the staircase toward the party.

"Jesus, Damon. You cannot do this," I beg.

When he reaches the bottom of the staircase, he walks me through the party. Yes, he strides through the party with me flipped over his shoulder. My face burns crimson as people laugh and gawk. Once he's in the middle of the most crowded room, he announces my arrival. "Look who I found hiding out in my room."

Then he flips me back over so I'm standing on my own two feet again. He has the decency to steady me by placing a firm hand on my shoulder. I slap it off me. "Yeah, and boy are there a hell of a lot of skeletons in your closet, Damon."

His face pales. I think he's actually worried I'd say something— I never would, but I relish the look of panic on his face. "Stalkers go to jail, Elena, but hey— maybe you don't mind. Daddy dearest can give you tips on how to survive."

Low. Blow.

Even people watching our fight seem appalled. It's a few, but still, I appreciate the indignation. I decide to do something incredibly stupid and asinine, I laugh along with them. It's a forced laugh, but I laugh so rarely at school I doubt anyone would notice. "You are so fucking right, Prince of Darkness, Spawn of Satan, thorn in my backside. My dad _is_ in jail and while he's been in jail, he's gotten to know some less savory personalities. Many of these friends are going to be out on parol. I'm sure they'd love to give me tips on how to survive MFH. As a matter of fact, they might feel it's their duty to look out for Grayson Gilbert's daughter." I shrug my shoulders. "And they might take it too far— and then _I_ might have to add another skeleton to _my_ closet."

Damon looks amused, not threatened because he knows I'm full of shit. I like to do my own dirty work. "You shouldn't make threats you can't see through." Damon looks at someone behind me. "I thought you ran home crying to Mommy, Powell."

Rafe stands by my side and snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. I curse under my breath. Things just got a whole lot worse. "You need to back off of Elena. She hasn't done anything to warrant this kind of treatment."

I shoot Damon a look of warning before I tell Rafe, "It's fine, Rafe. There's no need to defend me. Let's get out of here."

Damon folds his arms and stares daggers at Rafe. "No, I want to hear him defend you."

Oh, Jesus.

"Elena works hard and has a good heart, she stays out of everyone's way even though she shouldn't have to. She hasn't done anything wrong," he defends.

I glance up at Rafe and give him a smile, that was a very sweet thing for him to say. God knows no one else has tried to speak up for me. Rafe's fingers tug me tighter toward him, but honestly, it makes me feel more like a shield than anything. Damon grins and fuck, Rafe standing here makes me feel weak, not strong, because Rafe is now a target that I have to protect. "I think you forgot the rules, Powell. It's almost like you want to defy me like you don't believe I'll follow through on my threat."

"Damon, stop it," I yell through gritted teeth.

"You're awfully fixated on Elena Gilbert," Damon says as casually as he would asking a neighbor for a cup of sugar. "Your friend, Dillon Johnson, told me that you asked him where Elena Gilbert worked, when her birthday was, where she lives, what classes she's taking, where she eats lunch, who her friends are, who she's dated, and I think you even asked how old she was when she lost her first tooth. I'm going to give you some advice, free of charge. Dillon Johnson, not your friend. Elena Gilbert, not your anything. You touch her, you go near her, I'll show you why people call me the King of Darkness."

Rafe pushes me aside and barrels toward Damon, his fists clenched. What Rafe doesn't know is that Damon's been taking boxing since he was six. I've been to the gym with him a couple of times and Damon knows how to throw a punch and deflect one. "Rafe, stop!" I shout, trying and failing to drag him away.

Damon doesn't move, he stays right where he is waiting for Rafe to make a move. I stand back in horror as everything plays out in slow motion. Rafe pulls his arm back and throws a punch, and honestly, if it were anyone but Damon, I'm sure it would've landed well. But Damon easily dodges it, like Rafe is some annoying fly. Damon lets Rafe attempt another punch, but it doesn't touch him. Again, Damon lets Rafe try again. This time, his fist barely grazes Damon's chin, but it's enough. Damon throws his arm back and punches Rafe across the jaw so hard, Rafe falls to the floor.

This is all my fault. Shit. I run to Rafe and kneel by his side. I stroke his cheek, trying to assess the damage. "Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay."

He's barely able to smile through his bloody split lip. "I'll get you some ice."

Before I get up, Damon points at Rafe. "I'll let Elena fetch you ice, but that's it unless you want this to get worse. I know you're new, so I'm going to give you some slack. Contrary to what's going through your brain right now, I do have the power and authority to fire your mother. I have the power to make your life hell at MFH. All you have to do to prevent that is to stay away from Elena Gilbert and don't ever cross me again. That's it. There are plenty of girls at MFH for you to stalk and obsess over, choose one of them."

I glare at Damon with so much hatred, I didn't think it was possible to hate someone so much. How did we go from what happened in his bedroom to this? "You are a sad and lonely asshole," I fumed, my words come out deadly quiet but shaky. "Everyone here listens to you and does your bidding like little puppets, but at the end of the day, you come home to an empty house as an empty person. You should've stayed in rehab, Damon. You definitely have shit to work out."

Damon's eyes go icy, his walls back up and firmly in place. I doubt I'll ever be able to penetrate them again. I know I went too far, but I don't care. Rafe may have been inquiring about me but he cares. He stood up for me when no one else will. That means something to me. "Can you stand?" I ask, Rafe. He nods in affirmation. "Lean on me, I'm going to help you up."

Rafe takes my hand and I help him up, but on the way up I realize he didn't really need my help. It feels like he's holding me up more than I am him. It's those huge rowing arms. I guide him to the kitchen where I open the freezer and take out an ice pack. I open up the second drawer on the left near the stove and take out a dishcloth to wrap the ice pack in. He takes the pack from me and looks at me curiously. "You know his kitchen rather well."

"I've known Damon for a while," is all I say. I don't give him anymore. "Give me your keys, I'm driving you home."

He rests his icepack on his cheek while leaning on the counter. No one really goes through the kitchen except for hired help. They're responsible for restocking beer and snacks. Damon doesn't like random people going through certain parts of his home, the kitchen is one of them. "I can drive," Rafe mumbles.

"You've been drinking."

"I haven't had a drink since the shot June gave me," he adjusts the icepack so he can speak more clearly. "Believe me, that punch sobered me up."

I immediately feel bad. Biting my lower lip, I gaze at his now purpling chin. "I'm sorry."

Rafe's eyes narrow angrily. "Why are you angry, Elena? That psycho did this."

"He's been going through a lot," I defend. I should hate him, I do hate him. But I also know him, and for some reason feel the need to protect the part of him I know. The part of me that hurt him is still trying to earn forgiveness, no matter what he does to me. "You shouldn't have come to my defense, I didn't need it."

Rafe throws the ice pack down on the counter so hard it slides off the counter and hits the opposing wall. "Why are you defending him?" He shouts. "The stuff people say about you— I have to listen to it every day and it makes my blood boil, and that was before I officially met you."

"_Officially_ met me?"

"_That's_ what you heard?"

"Well, Rafe, it's a little suspect, especially after all the stuff Damon said about you," I retort.

Rafe growls, he looks unhinged but then he recovers. "I didn't want to have this conversation here."

"Would you rather have this conversation in front of everyone else, because that's your only other option. I don't know if I want to go anywhere alone with you," I reply carefully.

He groans and runs his hand through his golden hair. He's such a California boy. "I saw you that night at Damon's party."

_That_ night? "When did you see me?"

"You'd just come in and were talking to June. I heard you talking to Ford about Marvel movies, and you seemed effortless. You weren't trying, you listened to him like it was the most interesting conversation in the world-

"—in Ford's defense, I do love Marvel, and Batman and Wonder Woman, but if you hate Wonder Woman, you're a monster so we don't count those people as people."

"See? You're nice and funny and I wanted to get to know you, and the more I asked about you the more curious I became. My mom wanted me to get a job, so I asked where you worked and it so happened that Patty's was in need of a server," Rafe explains.

It feels like he's glossing over a lot. "Did you see me at any other point during Damon's party?"

Rafe stills for a second and then shakes his head. "I wish I had. I can't believe you went through that."

"You believe me?"

"Noah's in my Spanish class- of course, I do. Even in a different language, he's an arrogant jackass."

I nod. Rafe is the first person to actually believe me, it's kinda refreshing. I go into Damon's fridge and take out two bottles of water, handing one to Rafe. Once he opens it, I tell him something that I'd rather not say but it's the best for everyone involved. "It's genuinely hard for me to say this, especially since I think your a great guy, but we can't be friends," I state. "You need to listen to Damon. Your life will get progressively worse, and I can't bear to watch that happen to you. It's not worth it, trust me."

Rafe adamantly shakes his head. "I'm not going to let Damon dictate who I'm friends with."

"Rafe, this isn't necessarily about Damon, it's me. I'm telling you that I don't want to be friends. I will be fine, I can deal with whatever's thrown at me. I know for a fact you won't be fine. Quit the diner and get a job somewhere else, we already don't see each other at school, so we don't have to worry about that," I explain. "This is what I want, please respect that."

Rafe stands up, ice pack forgotten. His face is contorted in frustration. "Why are you letting him control you?"

"Damon doesn't control me, he controls everyone else. If you don't want him to control you, don't hang around either one of us," I say, taking a drink of water.

Rafe shakes his head, disappointed, and leaves the kitchen. Purple Sparkly Dress walks in, fanning herself. "Jesus, it's hot."

I hand her Rafe's unopened bottle of water, she takes it gratefully. "Thank you, dear. Are you a dancer too? I don't recognize you from Dancing Pony."

Oh hell, I need to burn this dress. "Nope, but out of curiosity, how much do you bring in in a night?"

She tilts her head to the side, thinking. "Depends, really. On a busy night, I can pull in fifteen-hundred, but that's if I do private shows too. Lap-dances and other…ummm…favors bring in more money."

Oh gross, TMI.

"I heard you make a little more money working for Damon," I lie, trying to fish for information about the video.

"Oh, the videos," she chuckles. "Yeah, Damon pays the lowest base rate, but we charge fifty dollars for every video that's taken, so we end up pulling in more money than we would at the club."

"Does Damon make you give him a cut?"

She nods, "Fifty percent."

So Damon's essentially getting these girls for free- maybe even making money. "Why doesn't Damon just let you girls work for free and let you keep all the money from the videos?"

She pulls up her dress and bites her lip, thinking. "The Dancing Pony wouldn't allow that, Damon pays them directly for our services," she explains. "They don't technically know we make money for the videos. Damon likes us to keep track of who takes a video and who pays."

That makes sense, Damon would want to keep track of how much money was coming in so he's sure to get a fair cut. But this has to be just for fun, Damon isn't exactly struggling to make ends meet.

"Were you at a party a few weeks ago? It was Damon's going to rehab party."

She shakes her head. "This is the first one I've worked since summer."

"I'm trying to find a dancer that was there that night. She might have some information I need. She had strawberry blonde hair and was wearing a pink sparkly dress similar to yours. Do you know who that might be?"

"You're talking about Cherry. She's working the Pony tonight," Purple Sparkly Dress says. "I have to put in a shift there once this wraps up. I can take you, if you want."

I have a cross country meet at eight in the morning, and going to a strip club is the last thing that I want to do, but if I can prove that I was assaulted the night of Damon's party, it'd be worth it. Can I run the meet on a few hours of sleep? I ran my personal best after being up all night because my mom decided to make a lot of noise with someone else in her room. Still haven't recovered from those emotional scars.

"Yeah, that'd be great," I hold out my hand. "I'm Elena Gilbert."

Purple Sparkly Dress takes my hand and pulls me into a hug. She smells like a Hostess Twinkie that's been sitting out in the Las Vegas sun for too long. "I'm Heidi Dallas."

She hugs for longer than is normal and then lets me go. "I'll find you later," she winks before leaving.

I have to say, she's genuinely nice— much nicer than anyone at school. Since I have to stay, I need to find my backpack, maybe I can get homework done while I wait for Heidi to finish dancing. I spend twenty minutes trying to find Rafe so I can get my backpack out of his car, but he's nowhere to be found. A few people said that he left, so I walk out to where he parked and check. Sure enough, his Prius is gone. I curse myself for not waiting to tell him I can't see him anymore until after I grabbed my things.

I'm just about to go back inside when I see my backpack laying in the bushes. I can't decide if he was being thoughtful because he knew I needed my backpack or he did it out of anger. I'm going to go with the former. I grab my backpack and head inside.

Since no one was in the kitchen earlier because Damon roped it off, I go into the kitchen and take out my homework. I'm starving, so I get a couple sliced of bread out of the pantry, cheese, and butter from the refrigerator, and a sauté pan from under the sink. On a paper towel, I lay out two slices of bread and put a couple of slices of cheddar cheese in the middle. The bread is the expensive honey whole wheat kind that you can only get at organic grocery stores. You'd never be able to find Wonder Bread in the pantry of the Salvatore kitchen. I giggle at the thought of Giuseppe eating a bologna sandwich made out of Wonder Bread. I'm honestly surprised the fridge is still stocked with Lunchables.

I heat up the sauté pan and put a tab of butter in the pan to melt. Once the butter smells nutty, I carefully lay the assembled sandwich in the pan and stand by the stove holding a spatula.

The music is still audible through the walls, but for the most part, the kitchen is relatively quiet. A couple of people working the party come in to grab more beer out of the fridge, but they don't pay attention to me. I lay out my homework on the counter and then walk back to the stove to plate my grilled cheese sandwich. Before I sit down, I quickly clean up my mess and grab another bottle of water out of the fridge.

I'm breaking off pieces of my sandwich while highlighting history notes when Damon walks in. He's pissed to see me, but it doesn't stop him from grabbing my sandwich and ripping off a piece for himself. "You can only make two things, but I have to say, you make those two things well," Damon comments after taking a bite.

"Four," I correct.

Damon leans against the kitchen island. "Four?" He dramatically puts his hand on his chin and slowly counts to two using his fingers. "Nope, two."

I hold up my own hand and count off. "Grilled cheese, pancakes, French toast, and omelets."

Damon rolls his eyes. "Your pancakes are never thoroughly mixed. I can't think of a time where I ate one of your pancakes and didn't eat a spoonful of flour. I'll give you French toast, but your omelets are always runny and come out looking more like scrambled eggs."

"Hey, I've gotten better."

"Highly doubt that," he mutters. "You forgot smoothies."

"What?"

"I was going to say that you make good grilled cheese sandwiches and smoothies, those are the two things," Damon replies, breaking off another piece of my grilled cheese.

I hesitate for a moment, and cover my brief panic by highlighting in a vocabulary word in my notes. "I don't really like smoothies anymore."

"That's weird, everyone loves smoothies."

I need to distract Damon from this conversation. If anyone could understand why I don't like smoothies anymore, it's Damon. Problem is, he doesn't know that part of the story because it was around the time that we stopped talking. "Aren't you supposed to be harassing people for being my friend?"

Damon shrugs his shoulders. "I already took care of the one person who wanted to be your friend."

"You didn't have to punch him," I snap.

"He came at me," Damon explains. "And he doesn't want to be your friend, he wants to fuck you. There's a difference."

I feel like I'm running around in circles, he just will not give up. "Why do you care? What if _I_ want to fuck him? What if _I _want him to use his massive arms to hold me while he drives his long and hard cock into me?"

Damon laughs- the bastard. "And he's going to do this where? In the back of his Prius while it's charging? He seems like an environmentally friendly multitasker."

I ignore him. "And after I'm done fucking Rafe, I'm going to start going to bars to pick up random men."

I shoot a look at Damon, a look that tells him I am not kidding and he better back off. "No you won't," Damon replies, taking a sip out of my water bottle.

"You don't know that."

He chuckles, "Yeah I do. I still know you, Elena and I know that the last thing you want is to be like your mom."

Dammit, he's right. I let out a heavy sigh. "I know you hate me, and if you want to hold onto that hate and torture anyone that might bring me a bit of joy, that's fine. I can handle it. But eventually, you've got to stop punishing me for something I did when I was fourteen."

The tone in the kitchen went from friendly banter to ice cold in the matter of seconds. I wouldn't be surprised if I touched the grilled cheese and it was frozen. Damon grunts. "You know, Stefan hated you."

This is news. "He did?"

Damon nods his head, not meeting my eyes. "He hated that I used to spend so much time with you," he takes another bite of sandwich. "There isn't a day that goes by where I wish I never met you."

I stare at my textbook for too long. All the times the four of us played card games or went camping. The hours we spent playing a makeshift soccer game outside, or biking all over Mystic Falls. How different would my life be if that never happened? "I feel the same way," I mumble, but then I look up and my gaze meets Damon's. "But it's not possible to go back in time and change what's already been done. Doc. Brown and Marty don't exist to help us change our past to secure a better present. We just have to deal with what _is_ the best we can. If this is the best you can do, if you can only function with hate, then my only hope is that one day you'll find peace."

Damon scoffs, shaking his head. "We'll never find peace, Elena. We both live in a hell of our own making."

My eyes narrow. "I don't."

"You lie to protect yourself," he explains. "You live in your own fortress of solitude because your so worried about building a relationship with anyone else that they'll see the cracks in the truth you put out there."

"I live in a fortress of solitude because you won't allow anyone to be friends with me."

Damon shakes his head, disappointed. "Then explain what happened with Caroline. I certainly didn't interfere with that relationship. I heard she's been staying away from both Chase and Noah except for at football games when she has to interact with them."

Really? I didn't know that.

Damon continues. "Prove me wrong. Answer one question honestly, and I'll consider backing off of Powell."

My eyes narrow. "Fine."

"Why did you lie to the cops?"

"They were actors," I explain. "And I would've said anything to get me out of the cuffs and out of that car."

"Not those cops."

My breathing stills. I could defend myself, but then I'd have to explain everything. Truth is, Damon and I have never talked about it. Explaining it now would open up a whole can of worms. Damon can deduce the truth of what happened, but I doubt he'd believe or accept my truth. "Nothing I say right now will satisfy you, your behavior tonight is proof of that."

Damon nods, disappointed. "That's what I thought."

He puts the rest of the grilled cheese in his mouth and leaves.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Stripping is a more lucrative job than I thought because Heidi drives a brand new black BMW convertible. "Tips must be good," I comment, getting in the car.

"Oh, I didn't get this from stripping," she confides. I don't want her to finish that statement and say that she's into prostitution. I brace myself, by looking out the window to avoid her eyes. "Damon gave me advice on investing my money and so far everything he's told me has panned out." Somehow I'm not surprised. "Honestly, the car was a splurge. I wake up every day regretting it but then the commute to school and work is so smooth and enjoyable, I'm glad that I let myself have this one thing."

"What are you studying?"

"I'm working towards a graduate degree in economics," she explains, turning right to get onto the freeway. "I'm lucky because right now, most of my classes are online. I just have to go to campus when I take a test and to fulfill my TA duties for Principles of Microeconomics."

"Why economics?"

"I like money." She turns toward me and winks. "So what's your story? You were doing homework while a party was raging, so I can't imagine you're like most high school kids."

"I would need a lot of alcohol before I delved into my story," I explain. "Like buckets of alcohol."

"I can do that," she affirms. "You need to relax. We're going to the Dancing Pony, I'll take care of you- it'll be fun."

It sounds horrible.

"I just need to talk to Cherry and then I'll be on my way," I explain.

"Why do you need to talk to Cherry, anyways?"

Heidi doesn't go to MFH, she seems like a genuinely nice person, she's obviously smart, and she's helping me out without asking for anything in return. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course! You're like this puzzle with long legs, plump lips, and great hair that I'm trying to figure out," she marvels. "Plus Damon is like obsessed with you and honestly, that man is only obsessed with himself, so congratulations on accomplishing the unthinkable."

"He's not obsessed with me."  
"Honey, do you think I'm blind? I may have been dancing and feeding shots to handsy students, but I saw him confront you twice about the blonde Adonis. I've been to several of these parties. Damon lingers in the shadows, I don't think I've ever seen him have fun until tonight. Sure, I've seen him handpick a girl to flirt with and take back to a room, but never have I seen him actually enjoy himself."

"That was Damon having fun?"

She ignores me. "And when he had you over his shoulders, I don't think there was a single girl in that room that didn't wish they were in your shoes."

I shake my head. "You're crazy."

"I know I am and I own it," she states. "So, why do you need to talk to Cherry?"

I let out an audible sigh. "On the night of Damon's going to rehab party, one of the football players, Noah, sexually assaulted me. I reported the incident to the school and cops. He was benched for a couple of games while he's under investigation, but witnesses came forward testifying they saw me flirting with him and being very forward. He's the star player, so naturally, everyone thought I was lying about it. They blamed me for the two losses the team incurred, his parents lawyered up and got any evidence I had thrown out. Now the case has been turned over to the student council where I'll go to trial. Noah showed me a video taken at the party that he's planning on showing during the trial. It's of us flirting before he took me to the room. I'm hoping to find a video of me running out in a state of duress."

"And you think Cherry might know who was filming?"

"The video was cut off, so there's obviously more. Plus she was dancing in view of the door where Noah took me, so maybe someone else took a video of her. I don't know, I know it's a long shot but I have to try," I explain.

"God, what a jackass," she mutters.

"Noah _is_ a douchey jackass."

"He is all of that," she pauses. "But so is Damon."

I mean, I know why, but she was kinda singing his praises a second ago. "Why?"

She shakes her head, disgusted. "I'll help you in whatever way I can. Noah should get his dick cut off with blunt scissors for doing that to you— and anyone who's helping him deserves the same treatment."

I've known this girl for a couple of hours and she's already helping me with a problem no one wants to touch. I wasn't looking for friends, but I think I may have found one. "You don't have to help me, I can probably figure everything out once I talk to Cherry."

"You need my help," she states, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. "I'm guessing you have no one in your corner right now, and even if whatever I do doesn't pan out, I'm still here for you. You were taken advantage of and you shouldn't be punished for it."

I nod, feeling awkward. I don't know what to do with genuine support, I'm so used to defending myself. "Thanks."

She winks. "Oh, and I promise you, we're going to have fun tonight."

XXXX

The Dancing Pony is as cheesy as you might imagine, complete with a neon sign with a pony and a girl with disproportionate boobs hanging above the building. The sign is so bright, I think you can see if from space, or a flight out of this shitty ass town. Heidi tells me to follow her through the back door of the club. We're met by a guard specifically assigned to the dancers. I follow Heidi through to the dressing room, where she introduces me as her friend. Heidi places me on a red velvet chaise lounge while she gets ready for her performance. The dressing room is small and cramped with costumes flung everywhere and a row of very high shoes along the wall. There's a couple of vanities along one wall full of makeup and glitter. It smells like

"Girl, you need help," a girl in a cotton candy wig tells me. "Get in a chair, I'm going to fix your face."

I give Heidi a look that says help me, but she just shrugs her shoulders. Heidi takes a shot glass, fills it with tequila, and hands it to me. "Drink this."

Heidi's wearing a red, white, and blue cheerleader uniform; it's more sparkly and shows off her cleavage. "Nice costume," I laugh, taking the shot.

"Even if it's just for a few minutes, my life's goal is to get you on that stage just to wipe that grin off your face."

"Pick another goal," I laugh, the alcohol already flowing through my veins. "I'm poor, do you know how close I am to doing this sort of thing?"

She giggles filling up my shot glass. "You think I can't recognize a South Mystic Falls girl when I see one? If I let you, you'd make a killing, but I feel like I need to be a big sister for you and steer you away from this shit. Doesn't mean I won't make you own the pole after hours though."

I take the shot. "If I had nothing, and I mean nothing, else to wear, and zombies started taking over the planet, I'd wear the Wonder Woman costume."

Heidi walks over and grabs the costume off the rack and hands it to me. "Fresh from the cleaners."

Cotton Candy sighs, applying moisturizer to my face. "That's one of my favorites. Makes me feel like a badass. You've gotta make her wear the boots too."

"Yes!" I exclaim, dragging out the _s_ for a little too long. "The boots."

Heidi looks at my makeup artist. "Candy, do not let her out of your sight. She needs to talk to Cherry."

"I love your name so much."

I watch her sparkly violet lips smirk through the mirror. "Well, aren't you sweet."

A not so cute bark of laughter escapes my lips. "Last time I was called sweet was when I was eight. A bank teller gave me a lollipop." I lean back and look at her upside down. "Do you have a lollipop?"

Candy smirks. "It just so happens, I do."

Candy reaches into her purse hanging off of my chair and hands me a wrapped grape lollipop. I'm about to take it out of her hands when Heidi screeches and snatches it from Candy's fingers. "Don't eat that!"

Candy just laughs, but I look curious at the candy. "Why?"  
"It's laced."

I frown until it hits me. "Oh!"

Heidi admonishes Candy. "No lollipops of any kind for Elena. She can have alcohol, but that's it."

If she tells Candy I have to drink my alcohol out of a sippy cup, I'm going to scream. "Hey, I'm sitting right here. I don't need a babysitter."

"Yes, you do." Heidi leans down and kisses my forehead. "Now play dress up and be nice to Aunt Candy. I have to go out there."

When she leaves, Candy works on my makeup. "You sure you don't want a sucker?"

"That is a rabbit hole I'd rather not go down."

"Suit yourself," she mutters, taking out a sparkly eyeshadow that scares me more than the idea of sucking on a drug-lollipop.

"You should dance tonight," Candy says while applying the eyeshadow to my lids. "If you did one dance, you could probably bring in a few hundred."

"That will never happen," I state.

Candy shrugs her shoulders and continues to pile on makeup. A girl with strawberry-blond hair walks in wearing a cherry red Playboy bunny costume. She plops down in the chair next to mine. She leans over, takes the bottle of tequila sitting on the vanity and drinks right out of the bottle. "Jesus, I hate this fucking costume. I can't move in it. I feel like a fucking mannequin." She leans over and unbuttons the back, loosening the bustier. "That's better."

"You don't get to choose what you wear?"

She looks at me like I'm insane. "You can try and sometimes, like if you have a dance routine choreographed and memorized, Tommy might let you wear what you want, but that almost never happens."

"Tommy sounds like a controlling prick."

She lifts the tequila bottle in the air. "I'll drink to that." She brings the bottle to her lips and drinks. When she's done she hands it over to me. "I'm Cherry, you must be Elena. Heidi said you wanted to talk to me."

I take a sip of tequila, enjoying the burning sensation as the liquid slides down my throat. I enjoy it so much, I take another sip. "Heidi said that you dance at Damon Salvatore's parties. Do you happen to have a copy of the videos taken of you on the night of Damon's going to rehab party?"

She takes the bottle back, taking a drink. "Why do you need the video?"

Cherry seems nice enough, but I don't want to get into specifics. "I might be in one of your videos."

She nods in understanding. "Were you doing a line?"

Candy snorts from behind me. She's currently working on my hair since I started talking to Cherry. I vehemently shake my head. "No, no, no, and no. I don't even know if I'll make rent this month, no way in hell would I waste money on a line of coke."

"Oh," Cherry says, her ruby red lips making an exaggerated O. "It's just that some people don't want a video going around of them doing anything illegal."

"Understandable," I say. "So, do you have a copy of the videos from that night, or do you know who might've taken one?"

She leans back in her chair, crossing her long legs while she thinks. "I might," she stands up and walks to her purse slung over a chair. She pulls out her phone and flips through it before sitting back down. "Here." She taps on the screen to press play. Excitement bubbles up because this is the same video Noah showed me. "Is that you?" Candy says, leaning over my shoulder to point to the screen.

"Yeah," I mutter, watching the video. It was bad the first time, but it's worse the second. God, my hair looks awful.

"You were all over that boy," Candy observes.

I groan, that's going to be the reaction of everyone watching it at the trial.

"He's all over her," Cherry counters. Aside from thinking I do coke, I suddenly love Cherry and want to be her friend.

I wait for the moment we go into the room, but like the last video, it's cut off. Dammit. "Is there another video?"

Cherry goes through her videos from that night. She plays a few more for me, but none of them show me running out of the room. "I only sold three videos and I made sure they all sent a copy to my email."

"Is it possible that one was taken without your knowledge?"

She shakes her head. "Damon would know. It's never happened before."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I'm so completely fucked. "Do you mind sending me a copy of the videos?"

"Sure, and I won't even charge you." She hands me her phone so I can enter in my email.

I take another sip of tequila, feeling the effects on my equilibrium. "I owe you one."

"Dance!" She exclaims like that's equitable payback.

"People need to stop trying to get me to strip."

Candy pats me on the shoulder. "I need to finish your face, hun."

When I turn around to face Candy, I turn too aggressively and simultaneously knock the bottle of tequila all over my dress and base foundation. I blame the amount of alcohol I've consumed and the fact that Candy's hand was in the way. I'm properly covered in product and soaked. "Looks like the zombie apocalypse started," Candy mutters, while Cherry cries. "Oh no, the tequila!"

And now I have to wear the Wonder Woman costume while my dress dries.

Instead of wallowing, Candy finds another bottle. I drink with Candy and Cherry while Candy finishes my hair and makeup. I'm definitely feeling the effects of señor tequila because I'm not as bummed about wearing a superhero costume as I was when I was sober. By the time I'm dressed, Candy places the crown on my head and sprays my hair with copious amounts of spray. I look at myself in the mirror. "I look like a stripper."

"A stripper that can deflect bullets with her wrist cuffs," Candy shouts.

Cherry takes the opportunity to slap my ass. "And has super strength."

"And gets to make out with Christ Pine," I add.

I place my hands on my waist, doing my best superhero pose. It doesn't work, I still look like a stripper. "I've got these cool boots." I lift up my leg and tumble backward, almost falling on the ground. When I straighten, I grab the bottle of tequila, but it's empty. "Señor Tequila is gone!" I bemoan.

Cherry double-checks by shaking the bottle when she realizes it's empty, she frowns. "Only way to get more is to go to the bar."

"If I go out there, Tommy will make me work," Candy mutters.

"I'll get it!" I exclaim, with more confidence than I've ever had in my entire life.

Candy tries to stop me. "I promised Heidi I'd keep you here."

"Excuse you!" I exclaim my hands firmly on my hips. "I am Princess Diana of Themyscrira, Daughter of Hippolyta. I'll do whatever I damn well please."

I spin around and almost fall over again. "Alcohol would make me feel better right now! I could do gymnastics if I had one more sip of the magical elixir."

XXXXX

The smell of coffee has never made me want to throw up before, but the moment I catch a whiff, my eyes open a crack and I stumble off a foreign couch. My head feels like it's going to crack open and give birth to baby brains and I have no fucking clue where I am. Before I can even look down at what I'm wearing, my hand flies over my mouth to prevent vomit from coming up. I crawl around a coffee table and down a hallway into a bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before the contents in my stomach come up. When I feel like the tsunami of vomit is over, I lean against the porcelain toilet, afraid that if I think I'm feeling better, I'll start puking vital organs, like maybe a kidney. Best to hug the porcelain horse for another minute.

"Do you remember anything?"

I turn to see Heidi, fresh-faced, wearing a teeshirt that says "Love that journey for me" and jeans. She's drinking a cup of coffee but places a bottle of water on the counter beside me. I stay seated on the floor but grab the bottle of water and twist open the cap. "The last thing I remember was Candy doing my makeup and knocking foundation on my dress. I don't remember anything else."

"That's probably for the best."

I groan. Señor Tequila is fucking devil's juice. "Wait, what time is it?"

"You have an hour before I have to take you to your meet."

"You remembered?"

Heidi takes a sip of coffee. "You couldn't stop talking about it last night. You told anyone who'd listen that you were going to lose, I thought I should at least get you there on time."

"I _am_ going to lose, I must've gotten two hours of sleep."

"You fell asleep at the club, you got more sleep than you think. You'll feel better after a shower." She motions to a stack of clothes on the counter. "You can borrow these. Once your out, I'll take you by your place so you can change into your uniform."

I give Heidi a weak smile. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Anytime."

Heidi starts to shut the door but I stop her. "Did I have fun?"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Oh yeah, you had tons of fun."

I don't know if that's a good thing or bad thing, but I let it go. Oh god, I hope I didn't do anything to embarrass myself. I look down at what I'm wearing and realize there's no way I didn't embarrass myself. I'm wearing my bra and the skirt from the Wonder Woman costume. Wonder Woman costume? Nothing really comes back to me. I remember seeing it and admiring it, but that's it. I've never been black-out drunk before and I have to say, it's kind of scary not knowing what I did under the influence of alcohol when my body is awake but my brain is asleep. Wait, I was wearing the costume but then decided to go out into the club. Oh, no…

It's probably best I don't remember.

Once I step out of the bathroom, Heidi hands me a travel cup of coffee and a banana. Now that I've taken a shower, I have a moment to admire her apartment. It's simple but decorated in a shabby chic style with pale pink accents mixed with blues and golds. She has a balcony with a view of downtown Mystic Falls. Her textbooks are open on the kitchen table like she's been studying. I bring the coffee to my lips and almost cry because it tastes like heaven. Since I drank the entire water bottle, my headache seems to have subsided.

After giving her directions, Heidi drives me to my home and waits while I change. She doesn't comment on where I live or the fact that I currently have no parental supervision, instead, she waits for me on the couch. My phone died long ago, so once I plug it in, I change into my Timberwolves jersey and shorts. When I walk back out, Heidi is looking through an old photo album. "Is this Damon?"

She points to a picture of me, Damon, Jeremy, and Stefan sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows. Damon's Uncle Zach took the picture. Last I heard his Uncle is in Italy with his very young wife. "Yeah," I say, not wanting to give her more information than I have to.

"That must be Stefan," she concludes, pointing at the picture. "I heard about him. He died in a car wreck, right?"

She says it so casually, she could be talking about what happened on last night's episode of must-see tv. Before Stefan died, my life was already falling apart, but it was more like a small pebble hitting the windshield of a car, the ripples would slowly get worse over time, but you could still see through the windshield. Stefan's death was like throwing a rock at the same windshield. It almost immediately shattered and destroyed everything in its path.

"Yeah," I mutter, trying to hide my irritation. "Look, we'd better get going. I really appreciate the ride but I can't be late."

Heidi looks surprised by my curtness and I see remorse in her eyes like she knew she was prying. "I'm sorry. I can't help it, I'm curious by nature."

"It's fine." I lie.

Heidi puts the photo album back. With her keys in hand, she stands up and takes a look at my outfit. "You look so cute in your little uniform," she jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "Can I borrow it? I think Tommy would love to use it as one of our costumes."

"After I lose today, feel free to take it when I'm thrown off the team. I'll even let you bedazzle it."

She laughs and slaps me on the butt. "Let's get your hungover ass onto the field."

Coach Dean would love nothing more than to kick me off the team. I am a hassle to have on the team because I can't practice with everyone. He was tired of telling teammates to stop hassling me, so he removed me from the issue and the problem was resolved, on his end at least. But when it comes to meets, the taunts and physical acts against me startup. It got so bad at the last meet, that the coach from one of the opposing schools intervened after Coach Dean did nothing. The incident embarrassed Coach, so I was yelled at and told to stop making myself a target. I still haven't figured out how to do that.

"Elena!" Coach calls me over. After throwing up the banana and coffee I had for breakfast, in the girl's restroom, I took a couple of Advil to help with the headache that's coming back. I'm running late, so I'm sure Coach is going to yell at me for being tardy. "The times and miles you've been emailing me have been good. I know we've had this conversation before, but you need to stop front-running. You need to pace yourself and your overall time will be much better. Your miles are consistently faster at the beginning of the race than toward the end. That isn't how you break a record or win a race."

"But I've been winning. Shouldn't I keep doing what I'm already doing?"

"You have to let me coach you, Elena."

I hate running with the pack. It makes me claustrophobic and antsy. Plus that's when the other girls elbow me and try to trip me, but I can't tell Coach Dean that. Instead, I nod and when another teammate steps up to ask Coach a question, I make my way to the starting line.

Sarah Snyder stands next to me and does a couple of warm-up stretches while waiting. "I heard you were at Damon's party last night."

I stand on my left foot and hold my right ankle behind my glutes to stretch it and then switch. "Just get to the punchline of whatever you're going to say to me. The race is about to start and I just want to get it over with."

"I heard you had sex with Rafe Powell after he stood up for you," she remarks.

"Was this before or after I slept with the entire football team. I have a really hard time keeping track of who I'm fucking," I remarked dryly.

"I'm not surprised," she sighs. "Of course you don't mind the Easy Elena rumors. You're probably loving the attention."

I smirk. "Are you jealous, Sarah?"

"Me? Jealous of you?"

"Well, yeah. Here I am getting all this attention for being a whore and you get none for being the exact same thing. Is Chase not a happy customer?"

Sarah scoffs and stomps her foot. "I hate Chase Worthington; I'd never…"

"Hi, Chase!" I wave over her shoulder, smiling.

Sarah spins around wearing a hopeful look on her face. When she realizes no one's there, I let out a laugh and get in position for the start of the race. Sarah is so angry, that at the start of the race, she tries to elbow me out of her way, instead, I run ahead of her and don't listen to the coach's advice. Problem is, I'm still hungover, and my legs feel like dead weights. Because of my comments, Sarah makes it her personal mission to beat me. She easily runs beside me.

One of the things I like about cross country is the fact that it's not on a track. All the races are monitored but at a bend on the path, Sarah ever so slightly moves her foot so it's in front of mine. I stumble forward and fall face-first on the ground. By the time I get up, she's already too far ahead. The rest of the pack catches up with me and I end up jogging and limping the rest of the race. I know I just rolled my ankle, I'm not seriously injured, but the coach looks seriously pissed when I cross the finish line. I can't even blame Sarah, I would've lost the race even if she hadn't tripped me.

"Well, I wasn't a front runner," I say to him before he can say anything to me.

"There was a college scout here today," he explains with a frustrated sigh. "I've been talking you up but now you made me look like an idiot."

Any defense mechanism I put up when Coach came up to me is gone. "What? I didn't know college scouts go to these things."

"They usually don't," he explains. "The team's never had a player worth their while. Now they'll never come back."

Is Coach Dean complimenting me? Am I still drunk? Because there's no way he's suddenly my ally. "What about Sarah? She won, didn't she? Maybe they'll want to come back to see her again and then maybe give me another chance."

Coach Dean shakes his head. "She won, but her times weren't nearly as good as yours have been. I'm sorry, Elena. I was going to tell you but I was worried it would make you nervous."

"No, I'm sorry, Coach Dean. I didn't get enough sleep last night and I woke up feeling sick," I explain. "What school's were they from?"

"Georgetown and Colorado State."

I never thought of getting an athletic scholarship, and before I can even process it as an option, it's taken away. I would've loved to go to Georgetown, and if Colorado State was a full ride, I could learn how to snowboard or ski. I'd probably end up loving it. "Is there any way they'd come back?"

Coach Dean shakes his head. "I know I shouldn't say this because I'm a coach and I support the whole team, but in all the years I've been at MFH, we've never been that good. Not until you came along. It's why I let you practice on your own because your times and miles are so good, it would've brought you down to train with everyone else. I could see you training for the Olympics if you put in the time and truly dedicated yourself. I've never seen someone withstand pain and keep going like you. You treat each race like a battle against yourself, and until today, I've never seen you waver," he smiles grimly, pats me on the shoulder and walks toward the rest of the team.

I stand, overwhelmed and confused. I always thought he hated me, but he really had faith in me. I blew it. Of course, my one bad meet has dire consequences. Clearly, the universe loves messing with me. I grab my water bottle, still lying on the grass. Heidi stands by a tree, her eyes shielded behind large black sunglasses, she must've heard part of what the coach said. "Sorry about your meet."

I shrug, still processing everything Coach told me. "You stayed?"

"I thought I might as well so I can give you a ride back," she walks in step with me as we head back to her car. "Are you hungry?"

My stomach grumbles in answer. "I need a stack of pancakes with lots of butter and a little bit of syrup and hot chocolate."

"So you need diabetes," she laughs.

"I need something that will make me forget this day ever happened and pancakes are the only legal thing that can help right now," I reply. I need to leave before the other races start. Usually, I have to stay, but I think coach is giving me a pass.

"Then we'll get pancakes and you can tell me why high school students suck."

"Oh, no. What did they say to you?"

"Before your race, one of the guys recognized me and decided to tell everyone around him where I worked. I usually don't care, but parents were there and it made me feel dirty," Heidi explains. "I'm over it though. Just don't expect me to come to every one of your meets."

Assholes. All of them.

"Look, Heidi," I start. "You took care of me last night and let me sleep off whatever I drank at your apartment, you woke me up so I wouldn't miss my meet, you drove me to my meet, and you stayed. You're working hard at getting a degree in econ, and you happen to have a job that pays well for doing something most high school and college girls do for free. Don't let the teenage fuckers get you down."

Heidi surprises me by pulling me into a side hug. "You're a good person, Elena."

Something about what coach told me combined with Heidi's words and the fact that I'm still kinda drunk gets to me. My life has been crazy these past five years, but the past month has been close to unbearable. It's a relief to know that there are people who are looking out for me, or see something in me that I can't see. Even if I don't believe it, it makes me feel less alone. "I'm not a good person," I mutter.

She lets go of me. "We're going to get pancakes and hot chocolate, and you can tell me about it or I can tell you why you still have glitter in your hair."

I laugh and groan at the same time. "You're cruel."

"I'm just going to randomly surprise you with information about last night like if you look at your right elbow, you'll see a pretty big bruise."

I check my right elbow, and sure enough, I have a bruise. "I don't want to know."

Heidi just shrugs and opens her car.

Heidi takes me to a cafe across town that I haven't been to. We sit down at a couple of cute wicker chairs with floral cushions on them. Each table is decorated with fresh daisies in a glass milk jar. The cafe looks like it's in an old Victorian mansion with ivy covering the sides of the building. We're sitting outside under an umbrella, enjoying the warm air before the colors start to change and Virginia becomes chilly. We both ordered pancakes and hot chocolate and while we wait for the food, Heidi tells me about her family. She has a younger half-sister in junior high school and an older brother that drives trucks.

"You're younger brother's name is Jeremy, right?"

I nod and take a sip of my hot chocolate. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"Sorry," she says, remembering what happened earlier when it came up. "I only know bits and pieces about your family. You're the Gilbert family, I think everyone knows bits and pieces but no one knows the full story."

She's not wrong. "What do you know about Stefan Salvatore?"

"I didn't go to MFH, so I only know what the girls who work at the Pony told me. I know he is…was," she corrects. "Damon's little brother."

I try to think of the most simple version of events to tell her. "Stefan and Jeremy were best friends," I explain. "You couldn't tear those two away from each other, believe me, people tried. Damon and I became friends by default. We were constantly responsible for watching them. Damon helped me through a lot during that time. My family was starting to fall apart and Damon would let me stay after school at his house so I could get my homework done in peace. One day, I was on my way over to Damon's house when I found out that Stefan and Jeremy were in a car accident. Stefan was pronounced dead on the scene and Jeremy was so distraught that he committed suicide a few days later."

I'm not crying. I gave Heidi the simplest version of events, and even though I'm talking about my brother and his best friend's death, I can't muster up tears. Maybe I'm a psychopath. Maybe I feel so disconnected from those events that I feel like they didn't actually happen to me, almost as though I'm watching everything happen on a television screen. Instead, I cut into the stack of pancakes that were just placed before me and take an enormous bite. Heidi's stack remains untouched, and after a solid ten minutes of silence, she pushes it away. "Elena, I'm so sorry."

I shake my head. "Its…" I pause, trying to find the right words. "I just, don't like talking about it."

Heidi nods, almost absentmindedly, then makes a show of checking her phone. "I've gotta go," she says. "Are you okay with taking an Uber back? They need me at the club tonight."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, regretting every word I said. I should've just had her take me home earlier, or better yet, I should've taken the bus home. My list of things I regret doing in the last twenty-four hours grows. "I completely understand." Because I do, truly. "Thank you for everything, Heidi."

Without saying a word, Heidi leaves a fifty on the table and walks out of the restaurant. I spend the next half hour people watching and finishing my pancakes. Is this what my life is going to be like? Am I always going to be on the outside looking in? I don't even know what normal is anymore, but I want it. I'm tired of being the graveyard girl- the girl that is so depressing, she infects the people around her with darkness. Is this darkness going to follow me into college? Are people going to know just by looking at me? Avoid her, she's depressing as fuck. I can't even blame Heidi for her reaction because it is a lot to take in. Probably should've waited longer than twenty-four hours before I told her about something from that time in my life.

XXXX

I spend Sunday doing homework and working at Patty's. Rafe isn't there and I pray to the almighty-whatever that he quit. After what happened on Friday and Saturday, I'm just focusing on my goal to get out of this town. Hunting down the video was a bust, so I'm just going to defend myself as best I can, and pray that only students who are on student council are allowed to attend the trial.

With renewed focus, I lock my bike and head into school on Monday morning. The moment I walk through the doors, I see teachers frantically taking down flyers that have been posted up everywhere. Students are laughing as I walk by and showing me their wrists while humming a familiar tune. Some spin around, laughing. By the time I make it to my locker, I see Damon, wearing a leather jacket and leaning against the locker next to mine, apparently waiting for me. Noah is nowhere to be found, but Andrea is practically hanging off of Chase and Ford is carrying a Freshman cheerleader on his back. "Is this take your daughter to work day, Ford?" I ask.

The freshman promptly slides off of Ford's back. Instead, he wraps his arm around her. "There's no reason to be ashamed of your job, Elena."

"I'm not," I defend. "I like doing dishes at Patty's."

The freshman giggles, pointing at the locker I haven't bothered to look at yet. "No, your other career."

I finally take a moment to look at my locker, and heaven help me, it takes everything in me to keep my face impassive. It's me, on the runway at the Dancing Pony wearing a shit ton of makeup that I don't remember Candy putting on, the Wonder Woman crown is on my head, I'm wearing my black bra and the Wonder Woman skirt and boots. By the timing of the photo, it looks like I just tossed off my top because it's still in the shot. These must be the posters that the teachers were taking down.

The tablet stuck on my locker from the last video that was taken is working again, this time displaying me walking down the runway, crossing my wrists and spinning like Wonder Woman, attempting and failing at spinning on the pole, falling on my ass, getting back up and taking my top off. All to the theme of the 1970's classic show starring Lynda Carter. The fall explains the bruise on my elbow.

Suddenly everything that happened on Friday and Saturday makes sense. Damon showed me weakness on Friday in his bedroom, and then there was the whole incident with Rafe. If it weren't for Heidi's reaction on Saturday, I would've believed Damon acted alone and happened to stumble into the club when I was drunk and dressed up. This is payback for going to his party. This is payback for going into his room and reminding him of our past.

Instead of looking at the crowd standing around my locker to watch the video, I stare directly at Damon, who smirks. "Well, I guess everyone knows my secret," I declare. Some people laugh, others comment on me admitting I'm a stripper. I ignore them and continue, keeping my gaze fixed on Damon. "I'm too damn trusting. I'm too soft and forgiving- I let my guard down. That will never happen again."

Damon flinches at my words but remains resolute in his stance. "No one wants your forgiveness, Elena," Damon chides. "We want you to leave. You should also stop meddling in things that aren't your concern."

The crowd, led by Chase and Ford, cheer their agreement. Everyone now on the same page that I should get out of Mystic Falls while I can. Damon told me on Friday that he didn't want me to leave because he likes torturing me, maybe he was lying and this is his way of telling me he can't be trusted. Message received and game on.

The intercom interrupts the words that are about to fall out of my mouth. "Elena Gilbert, please go to the front office. Elena Gilbert, please go to the front office."

I don't bother opening my locker, instead, I stride to the front office with as much confidence as I can muster.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I wouldn't call what I'm planning revenge. Is it reckless? Probably. Does it bring me any closer to my goal of getting out of this town? Nope. Is there a chance that this could backfire in my face so horrifically that I end up in jail? Yes, there's a good possibility of that. After losing the race on Saturday, and losing out of the chance of getting an athletic scholarship and walking into school today to find out that I was set up, I can't help but plan retaliation as I walk to the front office.

Something that Damon didn't take into consideration when he planned another tired locker prank is that I know him. Sure, I've used pebbles of information that I know about him to get back at him, but I've been primarily responding defensively. Not letting the things he does get to me by acting like it doesn't get to me. We might spar with words, a witty remark back about how dumb and trivial everything is— with a few curse words and jabs thrown in. The only time I ever really fought back was when I moved Damon's car. The reason I haven't made a move like I'm about to is out of guilt. I know what my family did to this town and I know what I did to Damon, but I'm tired of being punished for it. I honestly wish he'd go back to pretending I don't exist, but since that's not going to happen, I'm fighting back.

The secretary in the front office, Janice, moves her catlike spectacles to the bridge of her nose to get a good look at me. I feel my cheeks heat. She probably helped take posters down this morning. "Principal Hale would like to see you, you can go on it."

I nod and walk through a door on the other side of her desk. The principal's office looks more like a business office than a high school principal's office. The walls are painted in a soft grey and he has a view of the front entrance from large windows that cover most of the wall adjacent to his desk. A sleek black bookcase displays books on 21st-century administration and various principal awards—which I didn't even realize was a thing. Behind his desk, his diplomas hang in silver frames.

Principal Hale is young for a principal, and like most everything in this town, has ties to football because he used to play for the University of Virginia. After tearing his ACL, ideas of playing professional football went out the window and all he had left was a degree in educational leadership. To say he lives vicariously through his students would be the understatement of the century. To say he supported me after I accused one of his players of assault would be laughable. Hence the student lead trial for something that should earn Noah jail time, but this is Mystic Falls and the law doesn't always apply to local football celebrities.

I glance at the Cavaliers jersey framed and hanging on his wall. "Nice jersey," I mutter, sitting down in a black leather chair on the other side of his desk.

"Stand up, Ms. Gilbert," he orders, his voice firm and authoritative.

I frown and stand up.

His gaze scans my body slowly. "Shut the door."

I hesitate, my Spidey-senses tingling. "I don't…"

"You don't what, Ms. Gilbert? I'd like our conversation to remain private. Close the door."

I turn around and close the door, even though every instinct tells me to run out of it. When I turn around, Principal Hale is standing on the other side of his desk, leaning against it with his arms folded. I was going to sit back down in the chair, but it feels like it'd put me in an awkward position with Principal Hale standing right next to it, so I remain standing. I fold my arms awkwardly. "You wanted to see me?"

"Drop your hands to your side," he commands.

Once again, I hesitate. He isn't technically doing anything wrong but it feels wrong. School just barely started, surely nothing will happen with students coming into the front office to get tardy slips. He's the principal. I'm just being paranoid because of everything that's happened with Chase and Noah. I drop my hands to my side. Principal Hale nods approvingly. He stands, his eyes glued to my body, and slowly walks around me.

"Principal Hale, I have class, so if you could tell me why I'm here so I can get back to learning, that'd be great," I quaver.

He hums, standing behind me his fingers graze my thighs and tugs my denim shorts. I suck in a surprised breath and close my eyes. "I don't feel comfortable right now and I'd like to go."

Principal Hale tugs at the inseam of my shorts and his fingers dip dangerously close to my panties. Then he withdraws his hand and sits back on the edge of his desk. "Of course you're uncomfortable, Ms. Gilbert. Your shorts are too short; they're in direct violation of the dress code."

I shift my feet. "They're longer than the cheerleading uniforms."

His gaze travels back down to my shorts. "Are you a cheerleader, Ms. Gilbert?"

"No."

"Then your argument is moot," he replies, leaning over to grab something from his desk. He shows me the poster that was plastered all over the school this morning. Now that I have a closer look, the logo for the Dancing Pony titles the poster with the times I'm on stage at the bottom. It looks like something they'd post outside of the club. "Is this you?"

"Yes," I sigh.

"You're eighteen so I have little control over how you make money, but I don't want to see this projected all over a place of learning," he states.

"Surely you must realize that I didn't put these posters up," I scowl. "And I'm not a stripper."

"Take off your shirt."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"Your shorts don't follow dress code and I assume the top beneath the flannel doesn't follow dress code either. I'd hate for a young man to feel uncomfortable because you decide to take off your flannel shirt because you're warm," he explains.

"I'm not planning on taking off my flannel shirt," I argue. "And I think these requests are highly inappropriate."

"You are a stripper, Ms. Gilbert. What do you expect me to think?"

"Principal Hale, I didn't put these posters up. Yes, they're me, but someone did this as a prank."

"Did they doctor the photo in any way?"

"No."

"Were you at this club when the photo was taken?" He asks, pointing to the title on the poster.

"Yes, but…"

"Ms. Gilbert, I'm of the belief that you lied about the altercation between you and Mr. Scott, and after spending the better part of my morning taking these posters down, you're going to have to earn my trust. Coach Dean speaks very highly of you, and your grades are excellent, but I have yet to see someone who deserves the letter of recommendation I was planning on writing," he points to the diploma behind him. His graduate degree is from Columbia. Eleanor Kline did say that I needed alumni support, and support from alumni that's also my school principal would probably be enough for admissions to overlook my test scores. "I know that Columbia is one of the school's you're applying to. I'd love to provide you a letter of recommendation, but I need to see someone who's worthy of one."

I feel dirtier than I did when I was drinking tequila in the dressing room of the Dancing Pony and Candy was offering me laced lollipops. I tug my flannel off of my shoulders, pull my arms out of the long sleeves, and hold the shirt in my hands. I'm wearing a razorback black tank top that says 'Training for the Zombie Apocalypse' on the front. I usually wouldn't wear a tank I wear running, but I wasn't planning on taking off my flannel and I haven't had time to do laundry.

Principal Hale's eyes flare with triumph. "Turn around Ms. Gilbert."

I try not to roll my eyes as I spin around. When I face him again, his eyes are glazed and I feel sick. "Mrs. White would like to see you when we're done after you leave her office, you are to go home and change into something more appropriate. Because of the posters that were plastered around campus, and your dress code violation, you are to work here, in the front office during your free period. You'll start tomorrow."

I do my homework during my free period so I can fit in a run and work at the diner. "For how long?"

His eyes narrow. "Until you earn back my trust, and maybe you'll impress me enough to write a recommendation."

I put my flannel shirt back on. "Am I excused?"

Principal Hale stands up and guides me to the door with his hand on the small of my back. "Be good, Ms. Gilbert."

I know there are girls at this school, and probably boys, that fall all over Principal Hale, the football legend. After spending fifteen minutes in his office, I want to vomit. Problem is, I literally have no one I can go to. Principal Hale didn't say those exact words, but he didn't need to, all he had to do was show me the poster that was plastered around school and remind me that he doesn't believe my accusations against Noah, which means no other adult does either. It doesn't help that I could really use his recommendation. Maybe I'll just have to make copies and file; I'm probably just being paranoid.

I walk down the hallway until I find Mrs. White's office. Her door is open, but she's busy at her desk and doesn't notice me. I try to politely knock on the door frame to get her attention. She looks up and smiles, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Ms. Gilbert, come in."

I sit in a chair opposite her desk while she pulls out what I assume is my file. "I've been looking through your admission essays, and I have some concerns."

"Okay," I sit up.

"Many college admission essay prompts tend to be similar, so most students submit the same essay, varying it enough so its specific to that college. You submitted completely different essays," she explains.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"It would be if your answers aligned. For example, for your admissions essay for Columbia you wrote that you admire your father because of his dedication to his patients for his family medicine practice," she puts the essay down and looks up at me. "Your father is in jail for illegally distributing prescription drugs."

"I can still admire him, right?"

"For your admission essay for Stanford, you wrote that your business internship at Patty's Diner taught you about how hard it is for small businesses to make a profit when a larger corporation monopolizes commercial real estate."

"Salvatore International _does _monopolize commercial real estate in this town," I defend.

"You are a dishwasher at Patty's Diner, you aren't interning," she explains. "Elena, you have to be honest in your essays. Your essays lack heart and truth, which isn't going to help your chances at getting into college."

These essays took me a week to write. "Are you actually telling me that colleges are going to cross-check my essays with one another? Are they going to make me take a polygraph?"

"Elena," Mrs. White hisses in exacerbation. "These are just two examples; you lied in all of your essays. I cannot in good conscience sign off on these. Dig deep and rewrite them. I'll give you a week."

I nod. "Fine."

Mrs. White starts typing on her computer again. "You can go."

I stand up and leave. Once I'm out of the main office, I make my way to the parking lot. I check to make sure no one is around and the security guard is on the other side of the lot before I make my way to the obnoxious blue Camaro. I don't bother with coveralls this time, instead, I reach in my backpack, where I still have the wire cutters and pliers, and hop in Damon's Camaro. I lean down and hot-wire it like I did last time. He should've learned from the last time I did this to stop leaving the top down on his car, the cocky little shit. Not that it would've stopped me. I still could've broken in thanks to Uncle John's real like Grand Theft Auto lessons. Though I doubt he thought I'd use these lessons for actual car theft.

Once the car starts, I drive to Heidi's apartment. She told me that she doesn't have classes on campus unless she's taking a test or fulfilling her TA duties, so chances are she's still home. I park outside of her apartment and instead of calling her, because I have a hunch she'd avoid my calls, I confidently walk to the front entrance and pretend to search my backpack for a key. Luckily, an elderly gentleman coming back from walking his terrier leaves the door wide open for me to slip through.

Heidi lives on the top floor, so I take the elevator to her level and walk to her door. Then I do one of the most annoying things anyone can do and bang on her door while simultaneously ringing her doorbell. After five minutes of doing this, she answers the door wearing a look of pure irritation. "I thought I might see you," she mutters.

I don't wait for an invitation, instead, I walk right in. "So how much did Damon pay you to fuck me over? What's the going rate for a fake friendship? Fifteen-hundred? A pint of blood? The Hope-Diamond?"

"Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Funny you should mention that. When I got to school this morning, pictures of me half-dressed littered the hallway and by the time I got to my locker, a video was playing of me dancing at the Dancing Pony- something, funnily enough, I don't remember."

Heidi rubs her face with both hands and then decides to pull her bright red hair into a bun using an elastic around her wrist. With her hair in a top-knot, she looks suddenly resolute. "Sit on the couch, I'll make you coffee and explain everything."

"Won't that cost you the money you earned?"

She makes her way to the kitchen. "I'll give it back, I don't care."

I sit on the couch and flip through my phone while I wait for her to return. The video was emailed to everyone on campus, so that's fantastic. I highly doubt the administration will be on top of that one. It doesn't help that it's sent from an anonymous email account. Heidi comes back with a couple mugs of coffee, she hands me one and sits cross-legged on the couch, facing me. I take a sip and while she gets situated. "I didn't know who you were or what you'd been through when I agreed to do it. I wanted to call the whole thing off when I left the cafe on Saturday- I felt so bad, but Damon already had the video and by the time I made it back to my apartment, the money was waiting for me in an envelope in my mailbox. I just thought, the damage had already been done, so I'd just see the thing through."

"Why then? I told you what that footballer did to me, and you seemed so mad on my behalf," I ask.

"Damon told me about it, and I did believe you when I said that, but you have to understand. I really needed that money," she explains. "I have a lot of student debt and I can't work at the Dancing Horse as much as I usually do because the TA sessions are at night."

I bring the mug of coffee to my lips and take a sip. "I understand needing money— believe me, but you used me. I trusted you and I do not trust easily. I told you stuff that I don't tell anyone, Heidi. How do you think I feel?"

Heidi takes a sip of her coffee and seems to look remorseful. "Elena, I really am sorry. I'll tell you whatever you need to know."

"Start from the beginning."

She takes a deep breath. "Damon talked to me the night of the party, right before I came into the kitchen. I guess he knew that you were trying to find a video from the night of his going to rehab party and he wanted to send a message. Damon doesn't like people poking around his business, but if I'm being honest, I think he was mad about something else. He seemed uncharacteristically angry with you. He's usually more logical, but when he talked to me he seemed manic."

"I told you Damon and I have known each other for a while, well, on Friday night, I reminded him of his past and purposefully pissed him off."

"When he punched the blond guy after he tried to defend you…"

I shrug. "No one at Mystic Falls High School is allowed to date me. Rafe, the blond guy, would like to be more than friends."

"Seriously?"

"I cannot make this shit up. Damon runs that school like an empire- his empire."

"Huh," she thinks for a moment, then continues. "So, anyway, Damon told me to be your friend. He said that you don't have any and because I'm an outsider, you'd be more likely to open up to me and trust me. He told me a little about what was going on with you at your school, and said that you were lying—I'm not saying I believe him," she defends.

"I don't care what you believe."

Heidi looks a little putout but continues. "Damon told me to get you drunk and have one of the girls put makeup on you and get you into a costume."

"Did you drug me?"

She shakes her head. "That was pure luck on my part. I was just supposed to get you drunk enough that after hours you'd want to go out and strip. He told me to keep bringing it up and told me to give the girls the same instructions to put the idea in your head."

"What about the videos Cherry showed me?"

Heidi looks down and takes a sip of her coffee. "Damon deleted all but the three you saw."

"Dammit," I groan. "What happened next?"

"You know what happened after Damon talked to me, I took you to the club and got you drunk. You wanted to wear the Wonder Woman costume after you spilled foundation and tequila on your dress, and then when you put it on, Candy said that you kept doing superhero poses and spinning around really fast— and then you'd fall. At one point, you wanted to go into the club to get more alcohol, luckily the club was emptying out," Heidi pauses, stands up and walks to the entryway and grabs her purse. "Which reminds me, I owe you money."

"You do?"

"There were people in the club, Tommy wanted me to pay you for dancing. He got a kick out of your moves," she explains, handing me three hundred dollars and sitting back down on the couch. "You were up there for a while, Damon hadn't gotten there yet."

I take the money and put it in my backpack; I guess I'm officially a stripper. "Damon was there?"

"I texted Damon when I saw you in the club. He's the one that filmed you."

"You didn't film me?"

She shakes her head. "Damon actually prevented you from taking off more clothes. I saw the look on his face when you took your top off, he was horrified, ran up to the stage and carried you off. He just wanted you to dress up in one of our costumes and dance, based off his reaction, I don't think he actually wanted any article of clothing to come off you."

"But he paid you to get me to strip."

Heidi picks up her mug from the coffee table and takes another sip. "I think he really just wanted to get you to back off of the videos— like I said, Damon is very private when it comes to his business. I was supposed to text him earlier, but I was working and didn't see you come out right away. He arrived so quickly after I texted him, I think he was already on his way. Elena, you weren't even supposed to go into the club until after hours, when everyone left. I thought Candy was watching you."

"So he took the video, paid you and left?"

Heidi curses under her breath. "Damon is going to kill me for telling you. He literally gave me specific instructions to never tell you what happened."

Visions of necrophilia come to mind, but I don't think Damon would ever do that—I'm mostly sure. "I won't sell you out— I can't even think of a circumstance in which this will ever come up again. I don't exactly want to relive the time I got black-out drunk and stripped."

"You passed out the moment he carried you off stage, so he laid you down in a booth and watched you until I was done with work. When I was ready to go, he carried you to his car, drove you to my apartment, carried you upstairs, and laid you on the couch," she tells me.

Damon sets me up and humiliates me, but also makes sure I'm taken care of? I need to go to a batting cage after this because I'm feeling stabby.

Heidi folds her legs beneath her on the couch, getting comfortable. "I was given specific instructions to make sure you make it to your cross country meet. He said that you probably wouldn't do very well, so I was supposed to take you to breakfast after the meet. Damon's the one that paid for breakfast."

Damon had to have known I'd do poorly if he wanted me to get drunk enough that I'd actually strip. Knowing what I now know about the meet, that's almost worse than the video. "Did he do this so I wouldn't do well at my cross country meet?"

"He knew it was a possibility."

Of course, he did. "So everything was a lie?"

Heidi frowns sadly. "Damon coached me on what to say and he told me what topics might come up. My name is Heidi Dallas, yes, that's my real name. I do go to U of V, and I'm getting my graduate degree in economics."

"You don't have a younger brother, do you?"

She shakes her head. The manipulative bastard is smart, I'll give him that. "I really am sorry, Elena."

I stand up to leave, so one hundred percent done with this conversation. "I've got to go."

"Elena, I really do like you and I'd love to hang out sometime, for real, not because Damon is paying me."

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk to the door. "That's never going to happen. I don't trust you and I don't think that's ever going to change."

When I make it back to Damon's car, I hop in and cross the wires to start it. I drive to my house so I can change into jeans that are in desperate need of being washed and a worn shirt that I found in the back of my closet that says Mystic Falls Summer Fair 2012 and a list of local vendors on the back, including Gilbert Family Practice. There's reason I've avoided wearing this shirt but thanks to Principal Hale's order and the fact that I haven't done laundry in a couple of weeks, I have no choice. Since I'm already home, I put a load of laundry in the wash, and try not to think about the fact that it's only my clothes I'm washing. Before I go back to Damon's car, I grab electrical tape from the junk drawer in our kitchen and slip it into my backpack, I'm about to zip up my backpack when I see an old pink container of mace that I used to use when I'd run late at night. I don't even know if it still works or if it's expired, but I put it into the pocket of my backpack just in case.

I don't go back to school, that was never the plan— not yet at least. Instead, I drive to the Salvatore mansion. I have two choices, the garage door opener is in the glove compartment, so I could enter through the garage but I don't know who's home. For all I know, the housekeeper could be there cooking or cleaning, if she realized Damon's car came home without him, things could get awkward. I can also park down the street, cut through the bushes, and climb the tree next to his room—which is what I end up doing.

It's funny how easily some things come back because I'm quickly able to climb the oak tree near his window. There's a moment where I can't seem to get his window open and almost fall off the limb I'm balancing on, but with a little patience, it opens. I hop through the window like I've done a thousand times, and land in Damon's room. It's clean—of course, it's immaculately clean, and I know for a fact that Damon made the bed himself and not the new housekeeper. I take off my Converse sneakers and slip out of his room, heading to his father's study.

I've never really been a fan of Giuseppe because honestly, he was never around for me to truly despise him the way Damon does. He's always been hard on Damon, more so than he ever was with Stefan. I remember when we were in the fifth grade, Damon got into a fight with a boy that has since moved. The boy made fun of the 25% I got on a timed multiplication fact test. Much like with my SAT scores, I don't do well with timed tests. Damon punched him in the middle of class and was sent to the principal's office. Giuseppe banned Damon from seeing me until Damon figured out how to get me in through his window. Eventually, Giuseppe left on a long business trip and forgot all about my banishment.

It was Luciana that always had a soft spot for Damon. She kept a file on Damon in Giuseppe's office, one for Giuseppe to look through when he returned from whatever trip he was on. If I'm right, the file is still in Giuseppe's study. I tiptoe down the hall until I reach his study. The door is open, probably from cleaning, so I slip inside and quietly shut the door behind me.

I walk over to the bottom drawer of the mahogany desk, but it's locked. Opening up my backpack, I take out a bobby pin and get to work. According to my Uncle John, older locks are easy to pick. He would, however, be disappointed that I didn't have my own lock picking kit. Come to think of it, I think Uncle John got me one for my thirteenth birthday.

After a few tries, the lock clicks and the drawer slides open. I flip through the files, avoiding the one marked Stefan, and find Damon's. I take the file folder out and open it up while sitting on the floor. It's more than what I expected, which isn't necessarily a good thing. I was looking for the file Luciana kept of all of Damon's notable school work. While I see the file I'm looking for, marked sixth grade, I also find his birth certificate and other documents.

My eyes land on one marked Malibu Youth Recovery Center in fancy gold lettering, dated four years earlier. I know I shouldn't read the report, but I can't help it. I remember when he left. I skim the letter. After spending a month there, he was kicked out for being violent towards ten other patients. He rarely went to his sessions and when he did he refused to talk. He was caught stealing other patients' medication and sneaking in alcohol. They recommend taking him to a more severe treatment center and they suggest putting him on antidepressants.

After spending five minutes scanning the letter, I can't take it anymore and put it back with the files. It makes me physically sick to read it because I remember the day he left so clearly, I don't think I'll ever forget it. It haunts my nightmares and every time I look into Damon's cool grey eyes, there's a dark shadow lingering there, reminding me to never forget.

Suddenly, I want to go back out to Damon's car, return it to his spot, and continue with this school day as if nothing happened to drive me to this point. But then I remember the way I felt in Principal Hale's office and the loss of the race on Saturday and remind myself that all happened because Damon decided to manipulate me.

I open up Damon's sixth-grade file. One of Damon's weaknesses is his car, that's already being taken care of. Another weakness is his ego, and only someone who knows him as well as I do knows how to pick at that weakness until it bleeds. In the sixth grade, our teacher, Mrs. Dummet, entered Damon in a poetry contest. The poem was called, _Brown Eyed Girl_, Damon wrote it about a girl he met at summer camp. His poem came in first place. Luciana took him to a banquet where he accepted his award. His favorite part of the day? The fact that the banquet took place during the school day.

Using my phone, I take a picture of Damon's poem, the award, and the picture of him accepting the award in a suit and tie. How exactly is this revenge? Mrs. Dummet, me, and Luciana are the only people that know he won. In order to enter Damon, Damon made Mrs. Dummet promise to not tell anyone, otherwise, he wouldn't give her permission to enter his poem. She agreed because Mrs. Dummet was cool like that and understood Damon like only a good teacher could. Damon humiliated me by posting pictures of me stripping and posted a video of it- I'm humiliating him by stripping him of his ego.

I carefully put everything away and close the desk drawer. I slip out of the study. I see movement in the kitchen, which means I won't be able to leave through Damon's window unless I use the main staircase. I dart the opposite direction when the doorbell rings. Shit. Someone— probably the new housekeeper, shouts that they're coming. I slip into the closest room I can find and hide behind a corner until she passes. Carrying my shoes, I lightly sprint down the hall through the kitchen, praying no one else is in there. I climb the stairs to Damon's room and enter with a huge sigh— I made it.

Then a thought occurs to me, my life would be a lot easier if Damon had an extra set of car keys. Since I'm already here, I might as well check. I search through his nightstand, but all I find are books and extra chargers. Not surprised that A Song of Ice and Fire is one of the books in his nightstand, but I am surprised to see a copy of Persuasion. Damon never struck me as an Austen fan.

I search through his room, trying to find an extra set of keys but come up empty. Maybe he doesn't have a spare set— then I remember something my Uncle John once told me and I feel so dumb for not remembering. Damon inherited the Camaro from his Uncle Zach, who is nothing like his brother Giuseppe, but very nice. Zach also thinks he's incredibly clever. When Uncle John was explaining the merits of breaking into cars, he also said that sometimes people hide things that they shouldn't right in front of you. Like people who keep a spare house key in a fake rock, you can buy off Amazon. Uncle Zach and Damon, are the type of people who'd do that.

Before I climb back out the window, I make sure whoever was at the door is gone before I start to slip my shoes back on and start to climb back down the tree.

Sweat slides down my back by the time I make it back to Damon's car. I think the gardener saw me sprint across their expansive lawn, but I doubt he'd say anything. At least, I hope he won't. I search above the wheels where the frame is and find exactly what I was looking for beneath the rear right wheel, a magnetic hide a key box. I slip it open and find the extra key. I put the box back, but pocket the key. When I open the driver's side door, I use electrical tape from my backpack to fix the wiring beneath the wheel and use the key to turn the ignition. When it starts, I squeal and head back to school.

I don't necessarily want Damon to know that I took his car, but I want to use the car to fuck with him. It's almost lunch, so students will be heading out to the lot, which means I have to hurry. I don't want to park in Damon's usual spot, instead, I park his car in the closest empty spot, which luckily for me is a couple of spaces away from his usual spot. I grab my items, tuck the key back in my pocket, and run back into school thirty minutes before lunch. Since I already missed class, I spend my time in the computer lab, which is thankfully empty.

Using photoshop to put together the flyer about Damon's budding career as a poet, including the award, poem, and picture of Damon on the document. Thanks to my free period in the office tomorrow, I'll be able to let the teachers do the dirty work and pass it out during homeroom. I just have to make it seem like it came from the school— only Damon will end up knowing I put it together. On top of the document, I type, "Student Government honoring graduating seniors best achievements: Damon Salvatore". I even put the school's logo on the flyer.

I take advantage of the fact that no one is in the lab monitoring or working and print five-hundred copies. I then take time to compile them and using the computer teacher's post-its with the school logo on it, I write the number of copies and that they are to be passed out during homeroom. When I'm done, I put the huge stack in my backpack.

For the first time all year, I'm going to go into the cafeteria for lunch. Time to show Damon that when it comes to who and who cannot touch me, I make that decision for myself. I wavered on this plan because using Rafe is a risk. I will inevitably hurt him because I'm not attracted to him, especially after the ditched me at the party. I also run the risk of getting rejected because his mom could get fired. I shake my head. I can't do it— I need to find someone else.

I'm walking down the hallway toward the cafeteria doors when someone nudges my shoulder. I turn to see Rafe, grinning. Well if this isn't a sign, I don't know what is. "Is Elena Gilbert actually going into the cafeteria to have lunch?"

I chuckle. "Girl's gotta eat, Rafe."

"Well, you have to sit with me," He says.

"Is that so?"

He puts his arm around my shoulders. "I have a secret," he whispers into my ear.

Honestly, this is too easy. Thank God Rafe is from California and apparently clueless. "What's that?" I whisper back. "I like secrets."

I'm flirting and Rafe feels encouraged. He was touchy-feely at the party, and he's taking my overt friendliness as a sign I'm down for being more than friends. Rafe smiles into my ear. Ugh. "My mom still makes my lunch and she always makes extra."

"Does she write you affirmations on napkins too?"

He smirks. "Sometimes."

I force a laugh because honestly, the kid is eighteen. Grow the fuck up. "After Friday," I start to say. I want to be sure that I lay out all the consequences if only to lessen the level of guilt I'll have. "Maybe it'd be best if we stayed apart. I don't want you to get in trouble with Damon."

"I'm not afraid of him," he replies. "I told my mom about what he said…" _Of course, he did._ "…and she said that his family doesn't have the authority to fire her because even though she works for Salvatore International, she was hired through the University of Richmond's research department."

I wrap my arm around his waist. "I'm glad."

Rafe's big arms hold me closer. The moment people see me enter the cafeteria, we momentarily separate. Students start to applaud and wolf whistle. Chase, Noah, Ford, and Damon all sit at the same table. A girl I only recognize from passing in the hallways sits on Damon's knee, though, he hasn't regarded her at all. She might as well be a stuffed animal. She's the polar opposite of me, with big blue eyes and long curly blond hair. She's wearing an outfit that Principal Hale should make _her_ go home and change out of: a magenta halter top and a short matching skirt. I can see her white panties from where I'm standing. Damon's drinking out of his coffee cup and talking to Chase.

"Hey, Elena!" Ford bellows. "I don't have any dollar bills, but I'll Venmo you if you give me a lap dance." He slaps his lap and laughs.

Rafe moves like he's going to do something, but I pull him back. Damon puts his coffee cup down and looks up curiously. His lips quirk in a smirk like he's excited to see what unfolds. "You can't afford me," I yell back. "And your excited little pecker…" I show just how little I mean with my index finger and thumb an inch apart. "…wouldn't last through the chorus."

Ford glares at me, Chase barks with laugher, and Damon's smile grows wider. Since entering the cafeteria, I've been standing away from Rafe, but I take the moment I have Damon's attention to wrap my hands around Rafe's middle. I lean against him and whisper in his ear that we should find a spot to sit. Rafe tugs me to him and we walk together across the cafeteria. I try to find a table that's within Damon's sight and ignore peoples whispers. Many of them saw what happened at Damon's party, so naturally, they're curious about Rafe blatantly not listening to Damon's orders.

We sit with some of Rafe's friends. Like Rafe, we don't have the same classes together but I recognize a couple of his friends from previous years. Rafe's friend Jesse rows with him in the mornings and his girlfriend Sabrina is on the swim team. Other than Rafe introducing us, they don't talk to me or regard me at all.

Rafe gives me half his avocado sandwich, which I take enthusiastically. I lean into him while we eat, and he takes the cue to wrap his arm around me. I'm not paying attention to anything they're talking about, but I lean over and whisper in Rafe's ear that the sandwich is really good. He smiles down at me. "I have cookies too," he whispers. "Homemade."

I turn to look in his green eyes. "What do I have to do to get one?"

Rafe uses his index finger to touch his lips. I pretend to be surprised slash appalled. "They better be good cookies."

He chuckles and starts talking to Jesse about practice tomorrow morning. I use the moment to glance in Damon's direction. To say he looks murderous would be an understatement. This is Damon not getting his way. Damon's usually cool demeanor is crumbling. My polar opposite is still on his knee, but his gaze is fixed on me. I cock my head toward Rafe, trying to get his attention. When his eyes meet mine, I say, "So about that cookie…"

He reaches into his brown paper bag, and yes, there is an affirmation on a napkin that says, "I have the courage to live my dreams." But beyond that is a plastic bag with a few homemade cookies. "They're banana," he says, pulling one out. Fuck me, I might date Rafe just for his mom's cooking. Rafe holds the cookie in his right hand away from me. "What did I say?" He reminds me.

When I lean over to grab the cookie, Rafe uses the moment to capture my lips. I knew it was coming, but it still catches me by surprise. I want to pull away with every fiber of my being, but all that's been on my mind this morning has been getting back at Damon, and dammit I refuse to give up without a fight. I lean into his kiss, his hand wraps around me and tugs me closer.

I'm about to pull away when Rafe is pulled away for me. I look up to see the furious demeanor of the Prince of Darkness himself who has Rafe by the collar of his shirt, dragging him away from the table. It takes me seconds to grab my pink little container of mace from the side pocket of my backpack and I aim it in Damon's direction. "Cover your eyes, Rafe!" I yell, then I spray, not much comes out but it's enough. Damon curses and drops Rafe. I go over to Rafe and try to help him up while Damon runs to the drinking fountain to wash out his eyes.

"Are you okay?" I ask Rafe.

He sits up and rubs his eyes, I think he got a little in them too. "I can't believe you did that."

I shrug. "I'm learning." Jesse helps me stand Rafe up.

"Should we take him to the nurse?" Sabrina asks.

Rafe groans, still rubbing his eyes. Maybe I got more in them than I thought, but he was out of the way when I aimed for Damon's eyes. "You did cover your eyes, right?"

He nods. "Yeah, just a little got in. Damn, that stuff hurts. I think I do need to go to the nurse."

"You should probably stop rubbing it into your eyes," I suggest, but he ignores me. "I'll take you to the nurse."

I chance a glance at Damon, who's now back in his chair, wearing sunglasses, and drinking his coffee as though nothing happened. His lips are in a thin line. At least Barbie is off his lap. Instead, Chase and Noah are both laughing and joking about Damon being taken down by pepper spray. Even though Damon's ignoring them and wearing sunglasses, his gaze is still fixed on me helping Rafe walk to the nurse.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Describe your favorite place._

_Elena Gilbert_

_ Downtown, in an old schoolhouse near town square, is the Old Mystic Falls Library. Sure, there's a fancy high-tech library on the other side of town with geometric furniture, free public computers, and a large selection of DVDs to rent, but the Old Mystic Falls Library is what a library should be. The moment you walk into the turn of the century schoolhouse, you can practically smell the next adventure you're about to participate in, the musky smell of pages printed and bound decades ago. The lighting is always warm and welcoming and there are plenty of squishy armchairs for you to sit in while you get to know your new friends and enemies. _

"Do you always kiss Ken with the passion of kissing a plank of wood, or was lunch a special occasion?" I glance up at Damon, who interrupted me trying to get a jump start on the journal prompt written on the board.

My eyebrows knit together. "Ken?"

Damon rolls his eyes. "A Ken doll."

"Are you calling Rafe a doll, Damon? How very sweet."

"Stiff, vacant, and no dick— yeah, I guess I am calling him a doll."

"You didn't seem this impassive at lunch when you grabbed him by the collar," I comment.

"I realized something…" he mutters.

"That pepper spray stings?"

He shakes his head, amused. "That you can have him."

"Why?" I ask, skeptical of his angle. "You weren't okay with him on Friday night when you threatened to have his mom fired if he continued to pursue me."

Damon chuckles. "Because _you_ don't like him. I watched you at lunch. You were bored and kept doing that thing that you do with your eyes when you're feigning interest. He annoys you."

I shift uncomfortably. "No, he doesn't."

_Yes, he does._

My focus returns to the purple composition book. "I don't know Damon, are you sure you want to open that door?"

"Allow someone who annoys you to associate with you? Yeah, I'm okay with that— actually, I can't wait to see you slowly break his heart."

My eyes flick up to his amused blues. "I'm not saying that I'm not pleased you're finally allowing me to have a friend," I say dryly. "But now that Rafe gets a pass on one of your rules, who's to say that other's won't try to bend your rules? Who knows, Damon…I could have a group that I hang out with and we go to Homecoming together and cheer for the Timberwolves at games while sharing popcorn."

Damon just laughs. "You went too far when you started talking about dances and football—that's not you."

Damon and I are supposed to be analyzing another poem, but both of us silently agreed to do it on our own. I finished early and was working on the journal entry until Damon decided to discuss something that had nothing to do with Robert Frost. Mrs. Price stands in front of the class like she's going to get everyone's attention, so I whisper, "And who am I, Damon? A stripper? Because you had no problem paying someone to get me drunk just to spread that lie."

Damon's demeanor changes and his eyes darken. His ability to flip the switch so quickly is scary as fuck. "Stand up," he hisses.

"What? Why?"

Damon grabs me by the elbow, forcing me to stand up. "Mrs. Price, Elena isn't feeling well, I'm going to escort her to the nurse."

I try to get Damon to let go of me, but his grasp is too firm. People around us are laughing and throwing cheap shots at me. "I'm fine, Mrs. Price."

"No, she's not," Damon places his hand on my forehead. "She's burning up. She was just complaining that she felt like she was going to pass out.

Mrs. Price looks annoyed and like she'd be happy to be rid of both of us. "Very well," she glances at the clock. "Since you probably won't be back, you'll have to finish the in-class assignment for homework."

Damon grabs my bag and guides me outside the classroom. We're not going to the nurse— I know this, but it doesn't stop me from saying, "The nurse's office is the other way."

He opens the door to an empty classroom and hauls me in, closing the door behind us. "What the fuck, Damon?" I yell.

"What did Heidi tell you?"

Oh, oops. I didn't mean to let that slip.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out you paid someone to do your dirty work— that's _the_ Damon Salvatore move," I retort.

Damon steps forward, an evil glint in his eye. "Don't fuck with me, Elena. What did she say?"

"I'm not going to play this game with you, Damon," I counter, and start to walk back to the door, but Damon blocks my path easily. I push him square on the chest, as hard as I can, but he barely budges. Instead, he backs me into a corner.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

My eyes meet his; we're a foot away from each other but it might as well be inches. My heart pounds, something between excitement and fear resides somewhere low and forbidden. "You want to talk?," I breathe, trying to remember how. "Let's talk about the fact that you messed up my chances of getting an athletic scholarship."

His eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"

There. We're on even footing; I threw him off. Heidi may be a horrible 24-hour friend, but I said that I wouldn't say anything, and I intend to keep that promise. "Because I got black-out drunk the night before, I had a shitty run at the meet on Saturday, something you _knew_ would happen. College scouts were there, Damon, and they're not coming back."

Damon looks almost angry. "Why did you go out the night before your meet if you knew college scouts would be there?"

"I didn't know they'd be there," my voice rises with every word. Does he realize how many times I've agonized over the fact that I chose to go to that party over-preparing for that meet? "Coach Dean was worried if I knew, I'd be nervous."

Damon leans over, opens his backpack, and pulls out a flask, taking a sip. He laughs shaking his head, and it irritates me so much I take the flask from his hands and take a large gulp. "You're more upset about that than the video, aren't you?"

I shrug, the bourbon burns on its way down in the most delicious way. "Full disclosure— after Friday, I thought there'd be bloody tampons in my locker."

Damon looks genuinely disgusted by my words.

"If it makes you feel better, I am incredibly pissed about the video and flyer," I give him a little applause with my hands. "So, well done on the evil-doing, Prince of Darkness."

"King," he corrects, taking the flask back. "When did you get mace?"

"I think it was my mom's."

"You should probably keep it on you," he suggests.

"Agreed." I take the flask back and take a sip.

"What did Heidi tell you?"

"How do you know I talked to her?"

Damon gives me a look that tells me he's not an idiot. I shake my head back and forth, I'm not saying anything. I try to comb over the conversation Heidi and I had. What's Damon worried about her divulging?

"She was going to leave you at the club," he explains. "You were passed out on a bench and she suggested leaving you there. She said that Tommy would take care of you— I don't think I have to explain what was implied."

If I believe Damon, Heidi was going to leave me to probably get raped, or maybe Tommy is a nice strip club owner that would've just made sure I made it home okay. Yeah, I highly doubt that. However, Damon doesn't know what I know and it feels a little like he's fishing and trying to get me to turn on Heidi. "If I believed you, why did I end up at Heidi's?"  
Damon glares at me and takes a swig of the flask. He knows if he answered me, he'd have to admit to not hating me. He does not care for that question. Nope. Not at all. "Why are you protecting her?" He spits.

"Who says I'm protecting her? You're the one that paid her to get me drunk and strip, all so you could get revenge for something I did when I was fourteen," I yell. It's like four years of anger is about to combust out of me. I can't believe he thinks I'll comply to whatever he says like I'll roll over and just answer all his questions after the hell he's put me through and beg for a treat when I'm done. "I get it— you can't forgive me," I bellow, my voice rising. "I get it— you want me to leave Mystic Falls just like every other asshole who blames me for something _my_ father did."

"You love blaming your father for everything, Elena," Damon retorts. "He wasn't the one that lied to the cops, you did that all on your own."

I flinch, but continue to press. "So that means I deserve to be assaulted? I asked for Noah Scott to put his hands on me? I asked to go home with bruises?"

Damon runs his hands through his coal black hair; he looks…disappointed and sad if that's possible. "You lied to the cops four years ago, why would I ever believe you?"

I did one thing wrong, I've begged for forgiveness, and he continues to torture me. Continues to corner me like he wants to talk when really he just wants to hold what I did over my head. The perfect excuse for him to be mad at me all the time till the end of time. I raise my hand and slap Damon across the face. His head snaps back, his eyes glazed with anger and shock. "_You_ know me. _That's_ how you know. What could I possibly gain by lying about this? I was protecting my family four years ago."

Damon points to his chest. "_I_ was your family. _Me_. And that still didn't stop you."

"Keep torturing me and we'll never be family again. Keep driving that wedge between us, Damon."

"You can't even own up to what you did!" He yells in exacerbation. "You can't even say it. The only reason you're hanging around Rafe is because he's safe. He'll never get close enough to see that you're lying to him and you've been lying to everyone." Damon holds up his hand. "I can count on this hand how many friendships you've ruined because you closed yourself off. I'd bet my Camaro that you told Heidi you'll never be friends after she made _one_ mistake in less than a day of meeting you."

I push him again, square in the chest. Venom and anger flowing through my veins. "And why the fuck don't I trust Heidi, Damon? You just told me she was going to leave me drunk on the bench at the Dancing Pony. You paid her to be my friend, gave her tips on what to say. You're the one that turned to the school against me. _You_ did that— that's not on me."

"No, Elena," Damon says, walking closer to me. "You did that the moment you decided to ruin my life."

I raise my hand to slap him again, because how dare he— I didn't ruin his life. He catches my wrist with his hand and backs me against the wall. My heart pounds and heat creeps its way through my body. I try to push back, I try to yank myself from his grasp, but it's ironclad. He's steel, immovable, solid, and cold. Damon greedily watches the rise and fall of my chest, revels in my panic, his gaze travels up my neck to my slightly parted lips. "I didn't ruin your life," I croak, my voice shaky.

He holds me still, gazing into my eyes. Something softens in his expression, feelings bubbling to the surface. I'm not the only one feeling erratic and out of control in this dark and empty classroom. He leans forward, his large frame cages me in. "You were wearing a corduroy purple dress with little rainbows all over it, you had a long braid down your back with a white bow, but what I remember most is the dirty scraped up knees and converse sneakers with no socks," Damon whispers, his lips hovering just above mine. "_That's_ the day you ruined my life."

We're sharing breaths, both on the precipice of doing something we'll regret. "You can't…" I breathe, feeling like I should be the one to back away, but before I can, his hand wraps around the small of my back, pulling me closer.

Tears pool in my eyes. "I hate you," my voice comes out like a whisper of a breath, shaky and unsure.

"I know," he reassures quietly, using his other hand he cups my face and strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb, wiping away my tears. "I know."

His lips touch mine and he's soft, painfully so, like he has all the time in the world. I part my lips, wanting him closer, deeper. I steal his air and suck in his scent. I consume his groan. His tongue grazes along mine and like an addiction, once I've had a taste, I want more. He walks me back against the wall and deepens the kiss, his hands holding me steady on my waist. Layer upon layer the kiss built, leaving me needy and breathless.

"Elena," he moans, seizing my hips, lifting me so I can wrap my legs around his waist while propping me against the wall, deepening the kiss until we're so lost I don't think either of us knows where we are, we're acting purely on a craving. Craving comfort. Craving familiarity. Craving physical contact.

The bell rings and I suddenly remember where I am and who I'm with. Damon's still lost in the moment, his lips brush my chin, marking a path down my neck. "You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this neck," he whispers.

Lockers slam. Students chatter, walking down the hallway. I drop to my feet, wipe my mouth and push Damon out of the way so I can get distance between us and very bad decisions. "Oh, God, what am I doing?" I groan.

When I look back up at Damon, he's wearing a smirk— the one that fills me with both want and loathing. "You're not going to go back to Rafe after that."

My eyes narrow and again, push him in the chest. "That was because of the kiss at lunch today, wasn't it?"

Damon shrugs his shoulders, perfectly pleased with himself. "You were easier than I thought," He says, grabbing his backpack. "I thought you'd make me actually work for it."

"Well, now I'm all hot and bothered," I fume. "Maybe I'll go find Rafe so he can scratch my itch."

I make my way out the door, but Damon blocks my path by slamming his hand against the door frame. "The rules still apply," He says, his other hand lazily tracing my chin. I smack his hand away. "No one touches you."

"But…" I argue I can't believe I fell for it. I let my guard down the moment he said he didn't care about Rafe. The realization dawns on me and makes me so angry, I want to scream. "You're going to be sorry," I seethe.

"I hope so, Elena," Damon jokes, gazing down at me, twirling a lock of my hair around his fingers. "Playing with you is so much fun."

I bring my knee up and slam it on his foot, then slap him for a second time across the face. "I'm happy to have Malibu Barbie take care of your blue-balls. Is there a bat-signal you use when you're sexually frustrated or should I just announce it over the intercom?"

Damon curses and falls to the floor. I use the moment to step over him and leave the room. I will never forgive myself for falling for one of Damon's tricks. I'm tempted to spray paint a few colorful names on his car, or just light it on fire.

XXXX

The purple composition book sits in my locker. I open it and see that Damon wrote a long note beneath my journal entry. _In the words of Mrs. Price, our journal entries are supposed to be a safe place, not one full of lies. Your favorite place is beneath your bed. You put up glow in the dark stars and kept a pillow, snacks, and a book. If you didn't do well after a race or if your parents were arguing, I could find you there. Sometimes you wouldn't leave, so I'd crawl under with you. You told me that it was your safe place._

Maybe five years ago he would've been right, but not anymore. I don't even own that bed— we sold it, along with all of my other possessions when my dad was arrested.

_Describe your favorite place._

_King of Darkness_

_ My favorite place is between a woman's thighs. I'm not picky, as much as I love my cock buried in some tight pussy, I also like to devour it like it's my last meal— actually, that'd be a pretty fantastic last meal. Every pussy is different and every pussy should be appreciated for its differences. My first tip for eating a girl out is to take your time. Don't rush an orgasm, slowly build to it. My second tip is she deserves more than one orgasm. Treat her well and she'll be more than happy to make it up to you with her mouth or riding abilities. My third and final tip is to get to know her pussy. Pay attention to her little responses as your tongue circles her clit or your finger is up her cunt. If you treat pussy right, she'll tell her friends._

I roll my eyes and slam the composition book shut. Then I open it again, and using my red pen cross out 'King' and write 'Prince', then I write, "You have a future career in writing romance novels or for Playboy magazine."

I stuff the composition book in my locker and put back my books from my classes. When I shut my locker, I hear pieces of conversation that makes me want to do a victory dance. "Brown eyes reflect the pain in my heart," someone recites. "Didn't realize Salvatore was so fucking cheesy."

"Brown eyes haunt my dreams, a constant reminder of what I cannot see," another person recites. "Jesus, he's so deep."

Wait. Wait. Wait.

What?

"God, not only does he have more money than God, but he also has a deep soul," another voice says.

"I have brown eyes, do you think he was talking to me?"

"Christ, Molly, you were like in third grade when he wrote this," her friend answers.

Every day, I've been moving Damon's car at lunch. Sometimes I use his car to go to the grocery store or run errands, but I always leave the Camaro parked a couple of spots from where he left it. So far, he hasn't said anything about it and I've been hanging out by my bike after school just to see his reaction when he leaves. It's like he doesn't even notice, which means I need to take more drastic measures. When I worked in the front office this morning, I put the flyers in teacher's boxes and while it seems like some people think it's hilarious, by the reaction I'm getting at the moment, most people think he's the next William fucking Shakespeare.

I audibly groan, maybe I should blow up his car. I definitely need to think bigger.

I've been avoiding Rafe for the past few days but tonight I work at the diner, so it'll be my first time having to deal with the kiss at lunch. I have no desire repeating my performance at lunch, so having access to Damon's car has actually been kinda amazing.

I'm heading out to Damon's car to go off campus for lunch when I'm body checked by Kate. I stumble over another student and fall backward. We both go down. I spend a total of five seconds staring at the florescent lighting, trying to calm down when I'm dragged by the ankle to the bathroom a few feet away. I kick and scream, but it is very apparent that no one is going to help me. Kate locks the door shut and with her hands on her hips, she glares at me. "Grab her arms," she orders.

I'm hauled by the arms to a standing position. Jessica and Brie, two other cheerleaders lock their arms around me. I know cheerleading is a demanding sport cause damn these girls are strong. "Cute skirt," I comment, trying to sound as casual as possible. "I didn't realize bedazzling was back in fashion but it works on you."

I catch Kate looking down at the flower designs on her jean skirt but it's brief. "Did you know there's an online petition to get you to leave Mystic Falls for good? It has over five-hundred signatures."

"There's also an online petition for the eighth season of Game of Thrones to be completely redone," I remark. "Just because a bunch of people sign their name on a free online site, doesn't mean anything is going to happen."

Brie tightens her grasp. "I signed that petition."

I laugh. "So did I, but I didn't sign it thinking they'd actually rewrite the final season. I'll just wait for Martin to finish the books."

"Do you think his ending is going to be any different?"

I shrug. "It has to be better than the shit we got."

"Ugh," Brie utters in disgust. "So true."

"Enough!" Kate yells. "Everyone wants you to go…"

"—so you're speaking on behalf of the entire human population now?" I interrupt.

"Shut up!" Kate blurts. "You don't get to talk right now. You have two choices. You can either quit going after Noah or you can leave town."

"I choose option three: I graduate and leave town when I'm good and ready to leave town. Preferably after I've gotten into my school of choice."

Kate scoffs. "I don't think you understand. This," she says, pointing around the bathroom. "is just a warning. Noah's digging up all sorts of dirt on you and it's going to come out during the trial. If you leave Mystic Falls or give up pursuing action against Noah, you have my word that nothing will come out and we'll go back to pretending you don't exist."

I laugh and to be honest, it' sounds a tad maniacal. "When have I ever cared about what anyone in this school thinks? A video of me stripping was just released. Do you see me huddled in a corner crying? Do you see me wallowing at home, refusing to go to school? No, because I don't care what you people think of me. Noah assaulted me and he's going to do it again, except worse because at least I got away. He needs to understand that there are consequences to his actions."

Brie's hold on me loosens as she sucks in a breath. I manage to break away and run toward the door, but as I unlock the deadbolt, Kate grabs my ponytail and drags me back. I yell and kick, but Kate's on top of me. "Kate," Brie hisses. "You weren't supposed to go this far."

Kate's hand slaps me across the face. "This bitch thinks she's better than us," Kate barks. "Perfect Elena Gilbert and her perfect grades. Everyone is obsessed with her."

I grab her wrists and try to throw her off of me, but I feel Jessica's foot kick me in the side. I cry out and start to flail, trying to get out from under Kate. It's three against one and I need something close to a miracle.

I see a familiar blonde head open the door and then retreat. "Caroline!" I shout.

It's enough, Kate jumps off of me and yells for them to leave before a teacher comes to check. Kate doesn't run, she's confident that I won't say anything and she won't get in trouble. Sad thing is, she's right. I won't say anything because no one would believe me or want to help. Before Kate leaves, she kicks me in the stomach and hisses. "Remember, this was just a warning."

The bathroom door closes; I sit up and lean against the tile wall. I take a deep breath, which is a mistake because my ribs stings. After a few seconds, I manage to stand up and check the damage in the mirror. It's not as bad as it feels. My face is red and there's a scratch on my neck. I splash water on my face, take my hair out of its ponytail so I can redo it into a topknot. I don't know if that was Caroline that opened the bathroom door, but no matter who it was, they saved me from further injury and I'm grateful. If my backpack hadn't been across the bathroom, I wouldn't have hesitated to use the pepper spray I still keep in a side pocket.

I pick up my backpack and walk out of the school towards Damon's car. I look at my watch and realize I don't have time to do anything except move his car and if no one is around, eat my sandwich while listening to his radio. Maybe even a ten-minute catnap. The leather seats are really comfortable.

I check to make sure no one is around and hobble across the lot toward his car. I'm about to take the key out of my back pocket when I see a shadow. "I'm impressed," Damon mutters, leaning against the truck parked on the other side of his car with his arms crossed.

My first instinct is to run but I don't want to appear obvious. Running would be admitting to guilt, but also I'm exhausted. I just got the shit beaten out of me and I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for the next month. "Impressed? With my ability to walk across the parking lot toward the bleachers so I can eat my sandwich in peace?"

He shakes his head, disappointed. "Cut the shit, I know you've been taking my car during lunch."

"And why would I do that?"

Damon shrugs. "I'm mean to you…you hate my guts… you need attention…take your pick."

I adjust my backpack strap and start walking toward the bleachers. "You're crazy."

I'm still hobbling, but I manage to walk with purpose in the opposite direction of his car. Yes, I wanted him to figure out it was me, but I didn't want him to catch me in the act. Damn, I was really looking forward to sleeping on the worn leather seats.

Damon easily catches up to me and walks in stride. "The poem was you too, wasn't it?"

"And now you're even more popular with the ladies," I say. "You're welcome."

"I highly doubt that was your intention."

"You are correct."

"It's cute that that's the best you could come up with," he admits. "Although I do have to say that moving my car every day had me confused."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Damon."

Damon wraps his hand around my wrists and tugs me toward him. I flinch at the stretch of my ribs but try to cover it up with a pointed scowl. His fingers run over the scratch Kate gave me. "What happened?"

"I ran into a doorknob."

"Elena," he repeats, softly. "What happened?"

I yank my wrist out of his grasp. "Just, stop. I'm tired," I admit. I don't yell, I sound defeated, which I guess I am. "I'm so tired of this. Just leave me alone."

For the first time in years, Damon listens to me. His hand drops to his side, but he doesn't follow me as I continue my path to the bleachers.

I throw my backpack on the grass— not remotely hungry for whatever I packed. I lay on the grass using my sweatshirt as a pillow, I decide that I am done. I need to focus on paying bills and rent, which is due soon. I can't balance revenge and the trial with work and school. I already missed out on an athletic scholarship because of my inability to let something go. Between Chase, Noah, Damon, and now Kate and her gang, I don't have the energy to fight anymore. Defend myself? Yes, but not actively seek out conflict. It's not gotten me anywhere. Damon said that I was fun to play with, well, if I refuse to play, he'll no longer have fun.

My eyes drift close and with the midday sun shining through the slats of the bleachers, warming me up, I fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who's reading this fic and a special thank you to people writing reviews. I can't express how nice it is to read your thoughts on my little fic. This is slowly turning into a long fic, so be prepared for the slow burn to continue and the drama in Elena's life to increase. I hope that you continue to enjoy it as much as I've loved writing this story.

Chapter 10

I grab a new steel-wool pad and continue to scrub the bottom of a soup pot. Sweat drips down my back and beads on my forehead while Beck blares through my headphones singing about a devil's haircut. I'm not dancing today, today all my aggression is focused on getting the burnt beans off the bottom of this pot. I feel a tap on my shoulder, I spin around and shout, "What?"

Rafe looks scared, something I don't have time to feel guilty about. It's the first time I've seen him since I took him to the nurse for getting a little pepper spray in his eyes. Rafe stands there like he forgot what he was going to say, so I decide to get back to my pot washing. My mom still isn't home and rent is due in a week. I realized when I got home that I may have to go back to my hiding spot in the wall and sell the last piece of jewelry from my father.

I tried to pick up extra shifts from Gary, but if he gives me any more hours I'll be considered a full-time employee and he'll have to give me health benefits. I don't even know what having insurance is like, I just wake up and pray that if I get injured, it kills me so I don't have to pay for the hospital visit. And Gary giving me overtime is laughable. The three-hundred dollars I earned stripping is paying for college applications because apparently before a college allows you to pay tuition, they want you to pay to be considered. Fucking scam— I can't believe I'm literally buying into it.

I feel another tap on my shoulder. I'm slightly less angry when I turn around, partially due to the fact that the soup pot is now clean. "Yes, Rafe?"

He motions for me to take out my earbuds, which I do because I need to know how to respond to whatever comes out of his mouth. When he seems satisfied, he says, "I've been trying to find you at school the past few days."

I absentmindedly tie and retie my apron strings, avoiding his eyes. "It's been a crazy week at school."

"I've been busy too," he mutters. "Elena, will you look at me?"

"Mmm…hmmm." I begrudgingly look up at him. He does have really pretty eyes, light green with flecks of gold and he fills out the uniform nicely— I think I can see his six-pack through the white polyester Patty's Diner shirt. Or is it an eight-pack?

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out on Friday."

"Like a date?"

He nods, a smile plays on his lips. "Yeah."

"Why?"

Rafe laughs, and it's not a horrible sound. "Because I liked our kiss and I like you and I think we could have fun."

My gaze drops back to the pile of dishes that seems to be quickly increasing. "I can't."

"You can't?" He seems surprised and it makes me think I'm a better actress than I thought. "Is this because of Damon?"

"No. Nope. Not at all," I replied adamantly. "I have a meet the next morning and I can't risk doing poorly."

Rafe nods in understanding. "What if I took you out after? I could take you rowing."

I can't decide if that sounds like fun or if it sounds like being water-boarded. It could be fun; I could be normal for a change. Bonus: if Damon finds out, which he most likely will, it'll piss him off. Downside being Rafe's mom could get fired but he does know the risks and he seemed pretty confident that Damon doesn't have the power to fire his mother. I am attracted to Rafe and maybe if I allow myself to explore what could be between us, he won't seem so annoying to me. Maybe what's annoying about him is the fact that I fear for his safety when he's around me. It's one more thing to worry about on a list that's piling ever higher.

"Yeah," I finally reply. "That sounds fun."

Rafe looks like he won the rowing equivalent to the Super Bowl and I announced we were going to Disney World. He looks like a kid— I'm about to go on rowing date with a child. "Seriously?"

I nod and try my hardest not to roll my eyes.

I will not get annoyed.

I will be normal and go on a date with an incredibly good looking guy who loves his mother.

"Seriously," I confirm.

"Great," he replies. "I'll pick you up at your place after the meet."

Oh no, that's no good. I can't risk him seeing where I live. "Why don't you meet me after the meet? I can get ready in the locker rooms."

He gives me the okay symbol with his fingers and I let out a laugh before he leaves. "I'll see you on Saturday," he splutters. "I mean, I'll see you tomorrow at work but I'll see you on Saturday for our date."

I successfully manage to not roll my eyes when he leaves through the two-way door. I get back to doing dishes when someone else walks through. "Yes, I'll see you on Saturday for our date, Rafe." I laugh, but when I turn around it isn't Rafe, it's someone I never thought I'd see here of all places.

I pull out my earbuds. "Hey, Caroline."

She walks through and gazes everywhere but at me. "So, this is where you work."

I wipe my hands on my apron and when I look down, I see caked-on food mixed with grease. I think there's even a ketchup stain on my boob. "Yeah." I motion to the fold-out chair that sits along the wall in my station. "You can sit if you want."

She shakes her head. "I won't be long," she's all business and acts as though she couldn't leave fast enough. "I don't know where you live anymore and since I rarely see you at school, it's easiest for me to deliver the news to you here."

"You're here with Noah, Chase, and Ford, aren't you? Killing two birds with one stone: tell me whatever you have to tell me and then eat dinner with your friends."

She doesn't contradict me. "We just got out of practice, I'm here with the cheerleaders and some of the football players decided to join us."

I nod and feel a little dumb for thinking, for the briefest of moments, that she wanted to be something defined as being close to friends but not quite. She's wearing cheer shorts and a razorback tank with Mystic Falls Cheer written across with the school symbol of a Timberwolf. "So, what is it that you need to tell me?"

"Your trial is set for next Friday," she explains. "Be sure you coordinate with your teachers because you'll be missing class. The trials run similar to a normal trial, but there aren't as many rules. The student council will serve as both the judge and jury. You and the defense can call witnesses, we just need a list beforehand so we can make sure it's okay that they miss class. If you want, we can assign you a student on the debate team to be your lawyer."

"Can I represent myself?"

"I kinda figured you'd ask that," she mutters. "Yes, but you can't cross-examine yourself. You can, however, give a statement."

"Do I get a list of witnesses?"

Caroline actually smiles, almost like she's proud of me. "Yes, I'll email you a list of rules we abide by."

"Caroline," I pause, thinking. She's getting ready to go and I don't want her to leave quite yet. "Thank you, for letting me know about all of this, and thank you for earlier in the bathroom today."

Caroline looks both ways like she's nervous about being overheard, she whispers, "Are you okay?"

I shrug. "Nothing I can't handle."

"I should've…" she shakes her head and bites her lip. "Good luck next week."

XXXXX

I look at the names of witnesses for Noah's side and none of them surprise me. June's name does surprise me because it seems like such a flaw in Noah's plan. Sure, June doesn't speak to me at cross country meets, but I know where she was the night of Damon's party, which means Ford isn't a good witness either. The thought occurs to me that Noah might be anticipating that I'll be naive and focus solely on his friends, but what about people who were at the party but don't necessarily have anything to gain from him winning the case? Even if someone was taking a video of Cherry, that'd mean they were in proximity to what happened between Noah and myself.

I open up the email Cherry sent me with the downloads of her dancing. I may not know who was taking the video, but if my suspicions are right, she saved them under their name. I click on the video and squeal— Jeff Katz, Becky Winslow, and Alan Thompson are the names each file is saved under. Then I watch each video, the one that Noah showed me was from Alan, not surprising considering Alan is on the JV football team. Instead of focusing on myself, I focus on who's around at the time and make a list of possible witnesses. Then I write a timestamp next to each name. I can already contradict the testimonies of June and Ford, but the more times I watch the video, the more I realize I might be able to force the student council to vote against Noah.

I check the timestamp of the other videos and do the same thing, making a list of students I could call as witnesses who were around during the incident. When I watch the third video, Becky's, I realize something that makes me want to scream for joy. Her video is timestamped five minutes after Alan's video, which means whoever was around while Cherry is dancing, most likely saw me run out of the party. When I'm done with my list of names, I highlight the people who will most likely to be honest with me and stand up for me.

I sigh and lay back on my pillows, tossing my ancient laptop aside. None of them would be honest about what happened. They were all willing to come forward when the scandal broke to testify on behalf of the football God. Becky is the only person who might have seen something and might testify on my behalf. I need to think smarter. Noah will expect me to look for witnesses. I open up my laptop and look at Noah's list of witnesses again. On my phone, I create a file for each of them. I need to contradict each of their stories and the only way to do that is to search through people's Instagram feeds and find evidence that they weren't in proximity to the incident.

Instead of working on my college essays like I'm supposed to, I spend the next four hours scrolling through Instagram feeds and identifying each person on the videos Cherry sent me. Thank God people tag; just finding the right account lead me to several others. I'm not a social media person, but from what I can tell, people love posting their breakfast, post-workout selfies, and videos of them doing things that are probably illegal in some countries. I had to Google what FOMO means and I definitely do not have FOMO.

It's well past midnight when I hear glass break outside my bedroom. Thinking my mom finally decided to come home and stumbled to get water in the kitchen, I leave my room to see if she's okay. The light isn't on in the kitchen and everything feels still and untouched like I imagined the noise. Maybe it was someone next door, or someone breaking into a car. This isn't exactly the nicest area to live in. When I turn toward the front door, I freeze. A stream of light from a streetlamp falls creates a path through a broken window to shards of glass scattered across the floor.

"You should really lock _both_ doors," says a confidently melodic voice. This is the voice of someone who commands others to do his bidding. This is a dangerous voice but I'm used to dealing with this kind of voice, so I'm able to grasp at what little control I have. My gaze follows the sound of the voice to a man sitting comfortably in the dark on my living room couch, barely illuminated by a _Friends_ rerun on mute. "Sit," he commands.

I fold my arms. "No."

I hear a resigned sigh. His large frame, wearing a three-piece coal black suit, takes up most of the small couch. "I have business to discuss with you."

I let out a laugh. "For one thing, I don't know who the fuck you are…"

"— language, Ms. Gilbert," he interrupts.

Unease creeps through me at the mention of my name. "— for another, you FUCKING broke into my home."

His lips thin at my use of another cuss word. "Actually, Ms. Gilbert, as of this morning, this is my home, as I'm the one who paid your rent for the next six months."

Well, that has my attention. "Please explain."

"Please sit," he counters.

I sit in the armchair adjacent to him, keeping my arms folded in an attempt to protect myself. My eyes flick around the room trying to find a potential weapon, like a wrench or a candlestick or something else used as a game piece in Clue.

"Your family owes me money," he starts to explain. "A debt that started eight years ago and has since compounded."

"My dad sold to you," I conclude. I never knew the circumstances that started it all, all I knew was that my Dad became involved with some bad people.

He tilts his head to the side and assesses me. "Your dad sold _for_ me."

"But my dad went to jail for writing false prescriptions and selling the drugs he got."

"That's what they caught him for," he explains. "Ms. Gilbert, I never get caught and my business with your father was far from sloppy prescription writing."

My dad was guilty of writing and selling prescriptions, but according to the man in the suit, that wasn't the only thing he was guilty of.

He leans forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers. "When your father became desperate to pay me what he owed, he started selling his own product through his practice. A small struggling family medical practice isn't going to provide a mansion in Mystic Falls Heights, pay for your late brother's art lessons, your braces, or your mother's spending habits, so the distinguished and beloved founding family member Grayson Gilbert, family man through and through, sold my product to other family men and women."

"I don't understand how he owes you money. My dad has been in jail for the last four years. Why come for it now?"

"Your dad started to become…" he pauses, thinking over his next words. "He was very effective in the beginning, but he became a bad employee when he started to consume the product."

Enough to dig us into a rather large hole.

"According to my men, he had parties, started giving the product away. From what your father told me, even your mom enjoyed a combination or Oxy and Adderall," he explains. "Since your father's been in jail, your mother has come to me for help on several occasions, and being the generous man I am, I helped her."

That explains how the phone and internet bills were being paid without her having a source of income. "You fucked her," I blurt out. He doesn't flinch but slowly nods his head. "I hope you wore protection."

This time he does flinch. His dark eyes surveyed me. "You're going to sell for me."

I blink slowly and swallow, my answer is not going to go over well with this man. "No."

He ignores me and plows on. "Your mother tried working off the debt, but she disappeared. The debt falls on you. I've taken care of your rent and your bills, you sell product to your friends and at your job for the next six months and we'll call your family's debt paid."

A sadistic chuckle falls from my mouth. "I don't have friends."

"You work at the Dancing Pony and you go to parties, you have enough contacts to push my product."

The desire for a shower increases— a scalding hot shower. I don't want to think about how he attained that information. "Whoever you have following me has their information wrong. I don't work at the Dancing Pony and I don't go to parties. I am very boring and happily alone high school student."

He scans me from my bare feet to my sleep shorts to my tank top. If I'd known I'd have a visitor at one in the morning, I would've worn a bra at the very least. "You could earn it the money back in other ways."

He knows where I live, knows where I go to school, knows I exist all because of my mother. She hasn't been home because she knew he was coming for her. It explains the mountain man she was dating. Or is dating— I'm unsure. I take a deep breath. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't borrow money from you and I've certainly never used your product. I owe you jack shit."

I've spent the better part of four years being taunted by my classmates for being the daughter of a small-time drug lord. They'd ask me to sell. Ask me what I'm on. Ask me to give them a discount. Now I'm actually being told to sell by a real drug lord and he thinks I'm going to give into his demands? Fuck. That.

A sneer creeps up his lips. "The girl with the treats will become very popular— isn't that what every girl wants? A boy falling off her arm? Every girl envious of her station? All the money she could want?"

"You know what I want?" I ask, moving forward in my seat and matching his pose. "I want you to leave. I want you to cancel the check you wrote my landlord. Any problems you have with my mom or dad, you address with my mom and dad. Do you know why I'm not selling your product?"

Amused, he indulges my question. "Why?"

"I'm not, nor will I ever be my parents," I state.

The man slowly nods and reaching into his jacket, pulls out a card and hands it to me. "I'll give you a week to come to your senses. If you make the wrong choice, I can assure you, Ms. Gilbert, a girl like you would sell for millions on the black market."

Standing tall, his imposing frame walks to the door. I rise, only to keep myself from being in a more vulnerable position. He turns around, his dark eyes take in my night attire one more time. I wrap my arms around myself as a chill creeps up my back. After his slow perusal, he says. "I may even keep you for myself."

When the door closes, I quickly lock both doors. My knees give and I fall to the floor. Glass shards from the window prick my skin. I watch droplets of blood pool and slide down my legs and palm. I watch it curiously, surprised such a beautiful shade of scarlet comes from my body. We learned in biology that blood is red because of hemoglobin which is a pigment that contains iron and helps transport oxygen throughout the body. The interaction between iron and oxygen makes the blood-red, when there's less oxygen the color changes to a dull burgundy. This living paint slides down my leg and even though it flows through my body and keeps me alive, I feel nothing. It's like my thoughts exist outside of myself, looking down on my vacant form curiously. Is this what Jeremy felt like? Did he feel trapped in his body and just wanted to get out? Death being the only key to his freedom?

I flip the crumpled up card around. Domenico Moretti and beneath that, a number. On one hand, if I sell for him, I probably wouldn't have to worry about money for college. I would never use the product, but I could sell it to dumb teens who want to party and I could sell it to the girls at the Dancing Pony, maybe even use them to sell for me. But once I start, Domenico won't let me stop. Drugs are what destroyed my family and I'll have no part in it.

I need to leave this house of horrors. I take three deep breaths, helping oxygen flow to my brain so I can stand up. Once I'm standing, I assess the damage. I have a couple of wounds that will require bandaids— I should probably get one of them stitched up but I don't have health insurance and can't afford a visit to the ER. I clean up my legs in the kitchen and since we only have two bandaids, I use them on the major wounds and use paper towels to help clot the rest.

There's a motel a mile away that's pretty cheap. Sure, I'd have to live with a box television set and unfamiliar stains, but if I sell my earrings, I should have enough to rent a room for a couple of months. The 18k diamond earrings that belonged to my great grandmother is something I've avoided selling because it's the last bit of the founding Gilbert family that I was holding on to. I crouch at the bottom of my closet and pry open the drywall. The velvet box lies on the piece of plywood. Sitting criss-cross apple sauce on my floor, I run my fingers along the gold edge of the box before I open it.

Breath escapes my lungs.

I choke on dry sobs that won't come.

The box is empty.

The box clatters to the floor as I stand and race to my mother's room. I throw the door open and peer at the scene before me. The room is a mess but also empty. Void of anything personal. I jump over needles and almost trip over a blue glass bong to get to her closet. I open the door and know what I'm going to see before my eyes register the scene before me. It's empty.

I'm not surprised. She saves herself and flees, probably telling Moretti all about her teenage daughter. Her revenge for what I said the night she brought the cowboy home. She took my great-grandmother's earrings and ran, probably with Buffalo Bill. I dart out of the room and slam the door shut, not wanting to be in there for another second.

I have a week to figure something out before Moretti comes for me. If I can't figure anything out, I can do something I've been avoiding for four years and see my father. I've thrown away all of his letters, not wanting to hear any excuse he has for what he put this family through, but as I've gotten older, I've realized that life isn't so black and white. He went to jail for a reason, but maybe I should hear him out. There's obviously more to the story than I thought if he was working for the mob.

XXXXX

I open my locker and reread Damon's journal entry. Our second journal entry of the week is our choice, and Damon took it upon himself to choose the topic.

_What's your biggest regret?_

_Damon Salvatore_

_ When I was fourteen years old, my brother died in a car accident. Stefan was annoying and relentlessly kind. All he wanted was a dog and when my father didn't let him get one, Stefan adopted local cats. Giuseppe never knew about the cats because technically, the cats were still wild, only Stefan left out a bowl of cat food our housekeeper, Luciana bought for him. The wild cats would leave scratches up and down Stefan's arms, but he didn't care. _

_ As his older brother, I was responsible for taking care of him. Most of the time, Stefan was easy to watch. He liked riding his bike everywhere, camping, and writing in his journal. He was also impulsive, moody, and overly dramatic. I always told him he had an Academy Award in his future and he better fucking thank his older brother, but really, I think he wanted to be a veterinarian, which is so Stefan. _

_ I think about him all the time because my biggest regret is not going to his funeral. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I could've spoken on his behalf and been there to say goodbye. Giuseppe probably had his assistant write his son's eulogy. I've always been there for Stefan, but on that day, the day he truly needed me, I wasn't._

I hesitated when I wrote my entry. This is Damon opening up and being honest. Only I would know that this is Damon throwing down the gauntlet. He expects the same of me, but I don't know if I can.

_What's your biggest regret?_

_Elena Gilbert_

_ I was so used to my parent's arguing that I could go to sleep at night while hearing things thrown across the kitchen and breaking. I woke up when it was too silent. When I was nine, I still had hope that we could be this happy family. Eventually, my parents would fall back in love and on Sunday mornings, my dad would wake up and make pancakes while my mom set the table. One night, it was quiet. There were noises, a slammed door, and then…nothing. I walked into my parents' room and saw my dad packing his suitcase. He told me he was going to leave my mom. I cried and begged him to stay. I clung to him like a koala bear, scared to death that I'd be left alone with my mom. He stayed. I still think about that moment, what would've happened if my dad had left my mom._

_ Even now, knowing what I know, I don't see how things would've ended up the way they did. Maybe my dad would be helping me with my college essays and attending my cross country meets. Maybe Jeremy would be going to the art school he always wanted to attend. Maybe my dad leaving my mom would've been the wake-up call she needed. Regret is a nasty bitch that haunts us in our darkest and most quiet moments. I wish, at my age, that I didn't have so many, but lately, it feels like every memory is clouded by deep regret._

Damon and I didn't speak during English. We were both at a standstill, an impasse. One waiting for the other to make a move.

XXXXX

Coach Dean corners me in the field before the race. I brace myself for another lecture. "Today's not the day to be a front runner, Elena. You need to be smart and strategize. There's a strong wind from the east, and you'll want to use people to buffer the force against you until you can break free. Amy Lee is running today and she holds the county record for fastest 5 km. Hold back and save your energy for the last turn around the bend."

I nod knowing how important this race is because of how horrible I did last week. I've been running before school this week and found that I had more energy earlier in the morning. Insomnia also helps with being an early riser. Yesterday another article was released about my family. This time it was about the Gilbert family legacy and how, as a founding family, we've ruined the reputation the founding families have. The article states that we're the black sheep of the founding families.

The article went through and detailed every family member in recent history and what they're up to. Grayson Gilbert, currently serving time in the state penitentiary for dealing drugs; John Gilbert, con artist and known thief believed to be living in Morocco where there's no extradition treaty with the United States; Jeremy Gilbert, suicide by prescription drug overdose; Miranda Gilbert, addict and local floozy; Elena Gilbert, attention whore and liar. Okay, the article didn't call me an attention whore and my mom a local floozy, but it might as well have. It didn't help that it attached pictures, both of me stripping and my mom falling over drunk walking out of a bar with a man I've never seen before holding her up.

Students reading the article and quoting it within earshot of me greeted me Friday morning, but instead of yelling a snarky comment or just telling them to fuck off, I ignore them. I realized I'm quite talented at tuning people out and my life was that much easier not giving into the temptation of telling everyone off. Instead, I channeled that energy. I focused on the upcoming trial and my college application essays.

I stand at the starting line away from my teammates, not wanting to risk being tripped or elbowed by Sarah. I find Amy Lee close to me, doing the same thing I am, doing quick running in place spurts and stretching our arms. I get into position and then we're off. I try to hold back as Coach Dean told me, but people crowd into me, making me feel claustrophobic.

Moretti breaking into my home, the newspaper article, the journal, and the trial fill my mind. Suddenly, there's no one around me and I wonder if I'm going the right direction. The wind blows against me, but I keep going, letting my legs carry me. I run up the final hill and sprint down the path toward the finish line. When I cross it, I know there's something wrong. I was so distracted, maybe I did run the wrong path. Everyone is quiet until I feel a pull at my arm.

I'm tugged off to the side while other runners cross the finish line. "Here, Sweaty Betty," a familiar voice says. "Drink this."

I take the water bottle and down it, then frown. Damon stands in a white v-neck tee and dark wash jeans. A smirk plays at his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't realize offering breakfast meant a banana and Gatorade," he shrugs, a pretty redhead wearing Richmond High's red and silver colors dances behind Damon trying to get his attention. "Thought I'd stay for the race, though it didn't seem like it was much of a race."

I down the water while Damon hands the girl, who I'm assuming is his breakfast date or overnight guest, another water bottle. He gives her a peck on the cheek and shoos her away with a slap on the ass. "Did I fuck up?" I ask when she skips off.

Damon looks confused until Coach Dean sidles next to us. "Elena!" He shouts, excited, grabbing my shoulders. I've never seen him so happy. It's a weird look on Coach. "We had to check the final times but you beat the county record."

"I did?"

Damon smirks, his hands in his front pockets while Coach continues. "You were so far ahead, the coach from Richmond questioned the validity of your run. He wanted to check with his coaches who were watching from different markers on the course."

"What was my time?"

"Seventeen minutes and twenty-one seconds," he replies.

My brows furrow in disappointment. "That's only ten seconds faster than my personal best."

Damon chuckles. "Some things never change."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can never let yourself be satisfied, instead you try to think of ways in which you failed," he states.

Coach Dean barks out a laugh. "You have her pegged."

I roll my eyes. "You can't bug me about front-running anymore."

Coach Dean lifts his hands in surrender. "As long as your time stays consistent, I'll stop bugging you about it, but I am your coach, Elena, and I do think your times would be even better if you saved it for the last mile."

Damon throws an arm over my shoulder, I try to slap it off but he remains firm. "Too many people in that close of proximity overwhelm her. Her automatic impulse is to run away, I doubt that'll change."

And as he says these words, I try to get away but he won't let me; his grasp is too firm. "Quit trying to psychoanalyze me," I mutter.

A speaker calls for the next race. "I better get to the starting line. Great job, today, Elena," he says before hurrying off toward the front of the race leaving me and Damon alone.

"Let me go, Damon," I groan, but he pulls me closer to his side and walks me a few steps over to a large oak tree. "I'm all gross and I smell."

He leans over, positioning me so my back is against the tree. His nose grazes from my collar bone, up my neck, to a spot behind my ear. He inhales slowly. "I like you all tired and wet," he murmurs into my neck. "You have less fight."

Without me realizing it, he's caged me against the tree with one of his hands propped against the trunk. He's practically pressed up against me as he breathes me in, the heat from his lips scorch me without actually pressing against my skin. I feel the beats of my heart quicken, faster than it was beating when I ran flat-out during the race. His right-hand drops to graze against my thigh beneath my shorts, barely touching my skin almost as though he's afraid to. I want nothing more than to run my hands through his hair and feel his hard body against mine but logic causes me to stumble. It takes me out of the moment. "What about your breakfast date?"

"Do you want to go with me to breakfast, Elena?" He murmurs into my neck.

As though he fears my withdrawal, he moves his leg so it's between my legs. He twists my ponytail with his fingers and tilts my head up. The usual snarky answer to that question catches in my throat. "Were you rooting for Richmond High during the race?"

Damon lazily continues his path from the sensitive spot behind my ear to my cheekbone until his gaze falls on mine. His blue-gray eyes fall on mine as though I'm the only one on the field and we're the only two people that matter in this town. "I was rooting for you," he states. "Only you."

We're inevitable. Our connection has always been too strong. When we hate each other, we hate with our entire being. When we're like this, when we need physical contact, a war could be raging in the middle of a path to each other and we'd still find a way. The need, this kind of need is painful. "Is this real?" I ask, my voice croaks in a whisper.

He swallows a breath and doesn't move.

"Elena!" Rafe yells from behind Damon. "I was looking for you."

I curse and push Damon away. To anyone else, it'd look like Damon and I were about to do some very bad things, but to Rafe, well, he's just happy to find me.

"Are you ready for your _date_?" Rafe asks pointedly.

Maybe he does know what was about to happen. If looks could kill, Rafe would be dead by the way Damon is gazing at him. I start to walk toward Rafe, but Damon wraps a hand around my wrist and pulls me back. "We were in the middle of a conversation," Damon throws at Rafe like venom. "Feel free to wait at home for her phone call apologizing for canceling your plans and any future plans you may have."

Rafe starts forward but before Damon knocks Rafe out with a single punch, I stand between them with both hands outstretched. First I look toward Rafe. "I just got done with my race and still need to shower and change. I'll call you when I'm ready," I tell him before turning to Damon. "Thank you for the water, but we're done here."

Damon ignores me and moves toward Rafe, but I continue to block his path. "We're done, Damon."

"Yeah," Rafe agrees. "Leave her alone, she doesn't want you."

My head snaps to Rafe. "Leave, Rafe."

Damon uses the moment my head is turned to go around me and lunge at Rafe. Rafe tumbles to the ground. "Damon, stop!" I shout.

"I warned you, Elena," he replies, his arm swinging back, but Rafe gets a punch in first, right in the stomach. Damon barely groans before he aims at Rafe's face. I look around desperately for help but everyone is gathered around the starting line.

"Damon, please," I beg. He holds back, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You're too erratic for her. She needs someone stable, not someone that flunked out of rehab," Rafe provokes.

Damon punches him right across the cheek. Blood spurts from Rafe's mouth, but it doesn't stop him. Damon is quick and smart, but Rafe rows professionally and has the arms to prove it. Unlike at the party, he's not drunk or buzzed. Rafe throws Damon over so he's now the one that's on top. Rafe mirror's Damon's punch across the cheek, but it doesn't have the same impact and Damon is able to outmaneuver him by dodging him and landing a couple blows to the stomach. I start to yell for help but Damon flips Rafe over onto his back and stands up. Rafe groans, his face a bloody mess. "How many times do I have to hit you before you'll learn," Damon jeers. He looks like he might have a bruise on his cheek but other than that and a grass stain on his shirt, he looks untouched. His gaze falls on me, his eyes blaze with hatred before he walks away.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Rafe cleans up his face and insists on continuing with our date. I couldn't help but be disappointed with his desire to go rowing, but when he handed me a special outfit to change into, complete with a new hat, I knew I couldn't turn him down. After I change into a windbreaker and bike shorts in the school's locker room, I meet Rafe by his car. He's wearing a similar ensemble, except instead of a pink jacket, he wears a blue one. It looks good on him, and I can't help but think the bruise on his eye makes him look more rugged and less like the Bay Area prep I've known him to be.

He drives us to Mystic River, a wide river that flows through Mystic Falls and empties into the Atlantic. My mind can't help but drift back to Damon and our late night dips in the Mystic River as kids. In order to get me into the river, he'd have to dare me, knowing I could never turn down a dare. Treading water in bank while looking at the stars, both of us silently circling each other stealing glances while gazing at the stars above. I haven't been back since I was fourteen, the last time Damon and I snuck out and met at our spot. That was the first time we kissed, kids trying to figure out our feelings for each other, always dancing on the line between friendship and something more. It was sweet and simple and my first kiss.

Rafe takes the boats out and teaches me how to row, explaining how to push my hands forward and feather the oars. It's tricky at first, but eventually find my rhythm. Rafe is patient as I get the hang of it, his hands thread through mine showing me the motions. Rafe brought two single boats, so I follow him down the river. I find myself enjoying the strain on muscles I don't use when running. He turns around, flashing a brilliant smile when I try to pass him. He allows me to catch up so we can row side by side. After a while, we pull off to the side and dock our boats on the shore. Rafe lays out a blanket on a patch of grass and takes a small ice chest from his boat.

He hands me a bottle of water with I drink right away. "So, what did you think?"

"Couldn't you tell?" I say with a smile.

He flashes me a grin, pulling out a container of grapes. "I thought you might enjoy rowing."

"I may hate you for it on Monday when I can barely carry my books."

He offers me a bunch of grapes which I take eagerly. "I'll gladly help you with that problem, if you allow me."

Only Rafe would offer to carry my books like some sock-hop hero. Damon would probably make fun of me for being sore and threaten to drag me to the boxing gym he goes to. "I think I can manage," I mutter, popping a grape in my mouth.

I watch the current move swiftly, crashing over threatening rocks but not letting them impede their strength. "My mom would like you to come to dinner tomorrow, if you aren't already busy. She makes a mean pot-roast."

I almost roll my eyes. Of course she does. His genuine smile and hope in his countenance prevents me from immediately declining. "I don't know if we should continue this…whatever this is."

"Is it because of Damon?"

My breath catches and memory of earlier that morning with Damon. "No," I lie.

Rafe leans back on his elbow and regards me for a moment. "Can you at least tell me what happened between you two?"

I breath out slowly. "That's a loaded question."

"Why?" He begs. "Please, I need to understand what I'm dealing with."

My gaze meets his. This is a story I've never uttered, one that ruined my friendship with Caroline simply because I wouldn't divulge what happened. Not entirely. "My brother, Jeremy, and Damon's brother, Stefan were best friends," I start. "From the moment they met they were attached at the hip. We couldn't split them up and Damon and I became friends by default, constantly responsible for watching them."

Rafe is attentive, drinking his water while his eyes remain on me. "For years we hung out, went on camping trips, got to know each other's families," I continue. "Damon taught me to ride a bike and I taught him how to pick a lock. At times I think Damon resented our friendship. I think he wanted more normal friends. Boys from our grade like Chase and Noah."

"Normal?"

I frown. "My family had issues and Damon was always there for the fallout. Always by my side, just like Stefan was by Jeremy's side." I don't mention Damon's mom, feeling the moments when she passed too private, even thought I was just eight when it happened. "Even though we pretended not to notice, Jeremy and Stefan used to take the golf cart around the grounds of the Salvatore estate, but being growing adolescence, I think they had their sights set on more. Damon's dad had a garage full of luxury vehicles and one day, I was one my way over to the estate to pick Jeremy up, when I witnessed a crash. Jeremy decided to take one of their luxury vehicles out for a joyride, with Stefan in the passenger seat. Not knowing how to drive, Jeremy took a left outside of the Salvatore grounds and was hit by an eight wheel truck. Stefan was pronounced dead right there on the side of the road in front of his home."

We're silent for a moment. "Damon blames you?" Rafe manages to utter.

I sigh heavily. Those moments are some of the worst memories of my life. "Jeremy couldn't take the guilt so he ended his life a few days later," I confess. "He said as much in his note."

"How can he blame you, though?"

I don't dare say so, but I manage to speak. "It's complicated."

"Enough to isolate you from everyone?"

I breathe out a sigh. "Grief takes many forms and I can't fault Damon for the way he reacted."

Rafe shakes his head. "You're too kind. You lost something too."

I did, but I don't say the words aloud. "We both lost a lot."

His hand takes mine, threading our fingers together. "Whatever you're feeling, I know there's guilt there. Don't you think it's time to let go?"

Maybe.

But the only way to let go is to move forward and I can't do that until I can get out of Mystic Falls. "Easier said than done."

He hands me a sandwich made with avocado and fresh vegetables, no doubt his mom packed. Once he lets the topic of my past with Damon fall, we talk about other things. His childhood in the Bay Area, his parents' divorce, and his dog, Ranger, still living with his dad in California. Rafe's life seems simple and easy. He doesn't care what people think of him at MFH because he's only there for a year and then he's going to college, something he's looking forward to. I laugh at his stories of his friends in California and how they got in trouble for sneaking into the city without their parents knowing. I can't help but think of Damon when Rafe talks about driving to Mexico with his best friend Seth, just for tacos.

Rafe and I row back and Rafe drives me back to school so I can grab my bike and go home. Rafe insists on walking me to my bike, and when we reach it, he takes my hand and looks me in the eyes. "I'd very much like to kiss you again."

My eyes dart toward the ground. I'd like that but there's something preventing me from accepting his invitation, no matter how old fashioned it is. Rafe pulls me closer. "Thank you for teaching me how to row," I mutter, lamely.

"My pleasure."

I release one of my hands to grasp the handle of the bike. The move doesn't prevent Rafe from pulling me even closer and planting a chaste kiss on my lips. I smile into the kiss and take a step back. "I'll see you tomorrow, at work."

Rafe nods, grinning, watching me hop on my bike and peddle out of the parking lot.

XXXXXX

Whispers of the upcoming trial haunt me was I walk into school on Monday. Though my locker isn't covered in trash, used condoms, or pictures of me stripping, I feel a sense of unease. Rumors of another article coming out in the coming days doesn't help matters. This one expected to have new information on my family. I try to keep out of everyone's way and even though Rafe wanted me to sit with him during lunch, I decided to use the key I stole from Damon and eat in his car while listening to the radio.

That evening at the restaurant, Rafe stays late to talk to me while I do dishes, telling me about his upcoming visit to the Bay Area. He's excited to get out of Mystic Falls for the weekend but is apprehensive about seeing his father again, who's still seeing the woman he left Rafe's mom for. I can't help but feel bad for him as he confesses to being the one who caught his dad sleeping with his secretary. So cliche. He somehow managed to mend things with his dad before he left for Mystic Falls, but still is bitter over everything that happened.

"Would you consider coming with me?"

I drop the plate I was in the middle of cleaning. "What?"

I don't dare look at him, letting the hot water run through my fingers. "I'm taking the red-eye on Friday. I thought you might want to get away after the trial. I could show you around Stanford, I know that's one of the schools you want to go to."

"You think I'm going to lose the trial?"

I feel his hesitation. "I think the chips are stacked against you and no matter the outcome, you're going to want to get away."

"You think I'm going to lose the trial," I confirm.

I feel his hand on my waist as he turns me toward him and tips my chin with his index finger, forcing me to look into his eyes. "I'm not going to lie to you. If you were to ask me if I believe you or not, I'd say without hesitation that I believe your side of things. However, the student population are the ones running the trial and I don't believe they'll be fair and hear all sides of the argument."

"I'm going to lose," I state, because I am.

"And I'll be here to whisk you away to my hometown where you can meet my horrible father and his whore of a girlfriend," he smiles grimly.

My eyes bug out. Rafe rarely swears like this. He must find my expression funny because he bursts out laughing and pecks me on the cheek. "Just think about it," he begs. "I already have the ticket ready, bought on my Dad's credit card so take your time deciding."

I step back. "You already bought me a ticket? That's a little presumptuous."

"Believe me, I don't mind spending my dad's money so I was happy for the excuse. Even if there was the slightest chance you'd say yes, I thought it was worth the risk."

I nod, but don't look at him as I say, "I'll think about it."

With everything that's going on, especially with a drug lord or maffiaso after me, maybe it's best to leave town for a few days. Maybe it's best to stay in California. Permanently.

On Tuesday, Noah leans against a nearby locker, apparently waiting for me as I pick up my books. He's alone which means he's here for me and not to put on a show. I open my locker and ignore his presence, hoping he'll crawl back into the hole he came from.

"You look nice today," he compliments, seemingly sincere. Once again, I'm filled with unease.

"I'm wearing a shirt I got at a garage sale for a dollar," I reply dryly, closing my locker door and walking toward my first class. "What do you want, Noah?"

Noah falls in step with me. "I thought I'd warn you."

I stop in the middle of the hallway and wave my hands about. "Well warn away, Noah."

He grabs my wrist and pulls me to an empty corridor. "I'm giving you a chance to back off," he warns. "My father hired a private investigator and he dug up a lot of dirt about you and your family." I roll my eyes, of course his father hired a private investigator. "Specifically, about your relationship with the Salvatores."

This causes me to pause. "What about them?"

"The crash that killed Damon's brother," he divulges. "Now that you're eighteen, he found out some disturbing details."

"It doesn't matter, that should still be sealed," I state.

Noah shrugs. "You have my word that none of this will get out, as long as you back off. This trial is a waste of time. I'm already playing football again, and we both know that with other students judging the trial, I'm going to win."

I lean in close to Noah so he'll hear every word that comes out of my mouth. "You forget, Noah, I have nothing to lose."

Noah's eyes flame. He tugs me closer to him and without realizing what he's doing, he places his lips on mine. Before I can push him away, he takes a picture and then releases me. He grins, his eyes on his phone. "My followers will love that one, especially before the trial."

"You love forcing yourself on me," I say bitterly, wiping my hand with my arm.

He glances up at me. "If you gave me a chance, I think it'd be the other way around."

"Eat glass, Noah," I bite out, walking away from him.

"The offer does have an expiration date, Elena!" He calls out after me.

I ignore him and continue my path to first period.

_Elena Gilbert_

_Where do you see yourself in ten years?_

_ I see myself out of this fucking town, living in a beach house, and writing. My days will be spent on my computer, drinking coffee, while my black lab rests at my feet. In the morning, I'll run on the beach and at night, I'll read a good book on my back porch while watching waves crash. _

I look down at Damon's notes in black ink. _Is this the most honest you've ever been in this stupid book? Future Elena seems kinda lonely._

_Damon Salvatore_

_Where do you see yourself in ten years?_

_ I see myself working for my father and wishing I was at a beach house with a girl who makes me laugh._

That's it. That's all he wrote and I can't help but smile at his words. Damon and I have started sitting across the room from each other, but every now and then, he looks my way. That could also be because I sit beneath the clock and he's checking to see how much class is left. He's quick to leave after class, which is fine as I have to map out my case. Noah has a video, he has people in his corner, but I have something better: knowledge that he's lying his ass off.

Rafe doesn't work tonight, but I asked Greg for extra hours so after school, I hop on my bike and ride to the diner. I'm biking along a local highway when lights flash behind me. I slow down and pull further off to the side of the road when a blue and red stripped cup is chucked out of the window and in my direction. "Trashy skank," girls yell as cherry red slushy hits my shoulder.

Surprise over what happened causes me to lose control of my bike. I hit the curb and go flying over the handlebars. I land on my back and my bike lands on top of my legs. I don't let myself register the amount if pain I'm sure my body is in, instead, I move the bike off of the lower half of my body and crawl into a standing position. I feel like hell and I'm sure I look it too. I try to dust myself off but I'm a sticky mess of slushy and dirt. I can't tell what's slushy and what's blood but I know there's some there.

I fix the chain that fell off my bike and slowly peddle to the diner. Thankfully, I'm close. I didn't clearly see who was in the car, but I think I recognized Jessica and Katy. It's not really a surprise, I knew they'd try something else soon. If I don't react, they'll get sick of me after the trial is over. I just have to survive to the trial and then I can go back to being invisible. No more parties. No more trying to get revenge. I just want to get through the school year.

When I get to the diner, Dimitri gives me a rare look of concern. "What happened?"

"Tripped over some cheerleaders," I mutter, washing myself in the sink.

He scoffs and walks away. Dishes are a slow and painful process that night. I have to watch how I hold plates because of a bruise I can feel forming on my ribs. Someone barges into the dishwashing area through the two-way door and I don't have the energy to look up to make sure it is who I think it is- I can just tell. "Where the fuck is my spare key, Elena? I know you…" Damon trails off. "Jesus," he mutters.

He takes the plates out of my hands and puts them in the sink. "What happened?"

"I'm fine," I mumble, trying to push him out of the way.

"You're not fine, Elena. You look like hell."

My eyes glare into his. "And how the hell do I know you're not responsible for this? You love torturing and humiliating me, which is exactly what I happened."

"You know I wouldn't do this."

I push him in the chest, which hurts so much my eyes water. Who knew extending your arms could be so painful? "I know you hate me. I know you want me to back off of Noah's case. Having a couple cheerleaders run me off the road seems like an easy way to get what you want."

Damon ignores me and gently puts his hands on my shoulders and guides me to the fold-out chair Rafe usually sits on. I don't put up much of a fight. Mainly because I'm in pain and tired. Damon inspects me, slowly lifting my hand so he can lift up my shirt and examine my ribs. His long and graceful fingers graze my skin. I inhale a sharp breath causing his eyes to knit in concern. "You need to ice that," without letting me argue, he gets up and walks out front. After a minute, he walks back with a couple of Ziplock bags filled with ice. Kneeling in front of me, he instructs me to hold the ice pack while he cleans me up with a damp paper towel.

"I'm going to get behind on dishes," I bemoan.

"Shhh," he chastises. "Don't worry about that right now."

Damon takes a tube of antibiotic ointment and dabs it on a wound on my arm. "Are you going to tell me exactly what happened?"

"What good will it do?" I sigh.

His light blue eyes meet mine. "You know what I could do."

Confusion clouds my mind and my anger bubbles to the surface as it so often does when he's around. "You've been the instigator on more than one occasion, you've told me you want me to leave town, so now I'm supposed to believe you're on my side?"

He lets out a heavy breath. "I've always been on your side."

He's so full of shit. "Your actions say otherwise."

Damon frowns and continues to work. He rubs something sticky between his index finger and thumb. "You're covered in red slushy."

"How very observant of you," I reply, dripping with sarcasm. "You were saying something about a spare key?"

"I'll get it back from you later." Damon tilts my chin with his forefinger and thumb and sets to work on a scratch on my cheek. "You fell off your bike?" He guesses.

"Something like that."

"Someone knocked you off your bike."

I don't say anything. His fingers thumb the grass stain and red mess on my shirt.

"With a cherry slushy."

I remain mute.

"Who was it?"

I'm about to say I don't know when he continues talking. "Never mind, I'll find out."

"And what are you going to do when you find out?"

"Remind them that I'm the King of Darkness and no one touches you except me," he replies, dabbing ointment on my bicep.

"And Rafe," I mutter just because I can. Sometimes poking the bear can be fun.

Damon falters and almost drops the tube in his hands but quickly recovers. "You don't like him."

I gently wrap my fingers around his wrist and pull his hand away from me so he's forced to look in my eyes. I want him to understand what I have to say. When his eyes lock upon mine, I say, "You blame me for something I did when I was fourteen. You've been punishing me at every opportunity since then, can't you just let it go? I'll be gone the moment I graduate and you'll never have to see me again. Can you please leave Rafe alone?"

"No," he states flatly, going back to what he was doing.

I roll my eyes. "How do I really know that you weren't behind what happened today?"

"Because you know me."

"Do I?"  
He looks up, his blue eyes inspecting me. His hand reaches up and tucks strands of hair behind my ear. I feel the heat of his breath and smell his woodsy cologne. I want to lean into it and rest my head on his chest, but I manage to compose my desires. His movement is tender, almost an afterthought. "Yes," he murmurs. "And I hate you for it."

I swallow. The way he's looking at me reminds me that no matter what happened, our connection never truly severed. It's unnerving. "I need to get back to dishes."

He stands up from his crouched position and takes an apron off of a hook by the sink. "You sit, I've got this."

"I'm not an invalid, Damon," I groan, making no attempt to get up.

Damon loves doing dishes and with a towel slung over his shoulder, I have no desire to stop him from doing mine.


	12. Chapter 12

Message from the author: Hello, my lovely readers. Thank you for the kind words. They mean a lot as I deal with the death of my sister. Thank you for reading and writing reviews. I really appreciate all the kind things you're saying about this fic. Writing is my therapy, so I'll continue to write- always. This fic has turned into quite a beast and is going to be longer than I ever anticipated. I hope that you continue to enjoy it. In light of everything I've gone through these past couple weeks, I've started another Delena fic as well. Thank you for the support. Thank you for the love.

Chapter 12

The day I returned from school after Jeremy died was one of the worst days in my life. The day I saw a stretcher carry Stefan's body, wrapped in a black bag, into the back of an ambulance was the worst day of my life. That was the day that changed everything. That was the day that my decisions had horrible- if not dire consequences.

After Jeremy died, the friends I had slowly started disassociating themselves from me. I was the lonely graveyard girl- tragedy seemed to find me at every possible moment. My life was built in a house of cards and it took one incident to cause that perfectly placed deck of cards to fall flat. One gust of wind and that house was just a pile of queens, kings, jacks, aces, and jokers.

I knew the day of the trial was going to be bad, but I had no idea it would rival the day I watched my father get arrested or the day the entire school found out my dad was a drug dealer. I fell asleep so easily the night before the trial, that I should've known. I dozed off to old Parks and Rec episodes on the couch early in the evening. It was like my body knew it had to prepare for battle.

The smell of coffee woke me up but when I opened my eyes, it was still very dark outside. I checked the clock, 4:30 AM. My first thought was that it was my mom, but then I remembered that she doesn't know how to work the coffee maker and hasn't been up before eleven in the morning since Jeremy started sixth grade. I grab the nearest heavy object I can find, my chemistry textbook, when Domenico Moretti walks in carrying two mugs of coffee. Honestly, I'm more impressed he found mugs because my mom's version of dishes is to just throw the dish away. I didn't think I had any mugs left.

"It's early," I mutter, taking the cup of coffee.

Domenico sits on the chair adjacent to me and takes a leisurely sip. "You still have twenty-four hours, I'm just here to remind you of the terms."

"I meant early in the morning," I reply.

He shrugs. "What is early for some is not early for others."

I roll my eyes. "Drug dealer logic."

His lips tug upward as his eyes fall on the chemistry book still clutched in one hand. "Studying?"

By the look of glee in his eyes, he knows exactly what I intended to use it for. "Maybe I'm taking a leaf out of Walter White's playbook and studying how to make my own product so I can push you out of the business."

He's fully smiling now. "I have no doubt you could make your own product, but push me out of the business? I don't think so."

I move the textbook and mug to the coffee table and stretch my arms over my head. It is fucking early. Domenico's eyes linger on my tank top. "If you can read this my invisibility cloak isn't working," he reads. "What does that mean?"  
"It's from Harry Potter," I reply indignantly. I mean seriously? I don't care how old he is, he should've at least heard of Harry Potter.

"That wizard movie?"

"It's a book series and it's incredibly good. I highly recommend it," I take another sip of my coffee and place it back on the table. "I have the series in my room, I could lend you a copy."

"I can get my own copy."

I nod. I bet he can or he'll have one of the minions who's been following me get one. "Offer stands."

He sits back, unbuttoning a couple of buttons on his suit jacket and crosses his legs. "You are not like your parents," he observes.

Thank fuck for that.

"Is this your way of saying you finally realize I'm not a drug dealer?"

He tilts his head to the side, his hair remains classically parted and doesn't move an inch. "Quite the opposite, actually."

That can't be good. "Can you _be_ any more cryptic?" I emphasize the 'be' like Chandler cause _Friends_ is awesome and by the current look on Dom's face, he thinks I'm crazy, which is entertaining as fuck.

Dom steeples his fingers and leans forward. "I think you and I could have a wonderful future together."

My eyes narrow and I inwardly gag. "You're hot and all but I'm not ready to be a mob wife or a mob whore. I have a future planned for myself that doesn't involve being shot at or used by the police as an informant."

He chuckles. "You think I'm hot?"

He's sitting in my dump of a living room in a custom Armani suit, looking like he walked off the pages of GQ. He could be Bruce Wayne's long lost Italian brother- older brother, but still. "Too bad you're forcing me into the drug business, or we could've had our own H.E.A." I say dryly.

"H.E.A.?"

I roll my eyes. "Happily Ever After."

He barks out a laugh and runs his hands through his hair. There's a clear dimple on his chin that must only come out when he smiles. "You are very charming, Ms. Gilbert."

I bat my eyelashes. "So charming you'll leave me alone?"

He shakes his head slowly, suddenly sober. "No."

I sigh and lean back against the couch. "I'm not selling for you. That's my parent's business, not mine. I don't have friends at Mystic Falls High School, so I'd be of no use to you anyways."

He scratches his chin, thinking. "If within the next 24 hours, your mother shows up, I won't hold you accountable for their debt."

She's been gone for weeks, I doubt she'll decide to make an appearance within the next day. "And if she doesn't?"

"You stay in this house for free, pay off your parents' debt, and work for me," he pauses. "I have to admit, Ms. Gilbert. I hope she doesn't show."

I should've never said he's hot. It's early, I'm about to stand trial today, and I have no filter when I'm nervous. Dom gets up to leave but before he opens the front door, he turns around. "I'll see you tomorrow with product and instructions."

"I hope you won't."

He ignores my comment. "Have a good day, Ms. Gilbert."

When Dom leaves, I can't go back to sleep, so I decided to go for a run. My feet pound the pavement for two hours, thinking about the trial and what I have planned. After today, it'll all be over. Good or bad, it'll be over. Done. The difference between Noah and myself is that I have nothing to lose. I know that I'm not lying and I don't really care what anyone at Mystic Falls High thinks of me. Noah thinks he can get away with his newspaper articles and false witnesses. I've spent hours on Instagram digging for evidence of the truth. If it was anyone but my peers judging this case, I know I'd win, but MFH loves football and they love Noah.

By the time I get home, the sun has started to rise and pink the sky. Considering I can't bike after the accident, I decided to splurge and take an Uber to school after I get ready. With my files tucked safely in my backpack, I walk to the Uber wearing a black shirt dress that I found in the back of my mother's closet. The very back. Of course, my converse sneakers remind everyone who looks at me that I'm still in high school and poor.

I have to be on time to school because the trial starts promptly at eight, and even though I convey this urgency to my Uber driver, he insists on driving slowly and talks to me the entire ride. It doesn't help that we're stuck behind a garbage truck, which my Uber driver refuses to pass, for a solid two miles. I swear biking would've been faster. By the time I step out of the Uber, I have five minutes to get to the trial.

The moment I walk through the doors, eyes are on me. IMy sneakers skid to a halt on the tile floor. No one is saying anything, they're just staring at me- some over newspapers. I want to say something snarky, call them out for staring, but words fail me. I'm used to jeers, people calling me a slut or easy Elena, but this is something else. How much did the private investigator find?

I'm looking for a newspaper to read when a hand wraps around my forearm and tugs me away. "What?" I splutter, trying to steady myself as I slide against the linoleum tile.

Damon props me against a locker and leers over me. "Don't read the newspaper article," Damon warns, his eyes piercing me. He's serious. I take the coffee cup out of his hands and take a long sip. Bourbon and coffee- the Salvatore special.

"Why?"

"You have the trial today," he replies. "The article was meant to distract you."

I glare at him and shove him away, keeping his paper coffee cup firmly in my hands. "And why do you care?"  
He runs his hands through his hair. He looks sexy as hell but I also want to push him off the nearest building. He's wearing an evergreen henley and low slung dark wash jeans. I can see a strip of skin as his hands linger in his dark hair. His eyes flick to mine, knowing exactly what I was looking at. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

I tilt my head to the side and do a slow scan from black leather boots to the cocky as fuck smirk. I take my time admiring his lean body and the sinewy lines in his arms that can only come from his hours of boxing. When I get to his face, I lock eyes with his. "Your face ruins it," I mutter. "I'd have to photoshop Chris Evan's face onto your body, but that'd defeat the purpose considering I'd gladly climb Captain America's body like a tree."

Damon's rose-pink lips curl into a smirk. "You're cute when you lie."

This only makes me take a long sip of his coffee. Damon wraps his warm hands around mine and takes back the cup of coffee. "You don't want to be drunk for the trial."

I don't bother arguing with him because I already feel the tingle of alcohol flow through my veins. "I'm going to find out what the article says."

The bell rings. Damon smirks. "No, you won't. Better hurry, Gilbert."

I squeeze my hand into a fist and punch his shoulder. "You did that on purpose."

He gives me an unbothered look and takes a drink of his coffee. I don't have time to argue, so I sprint down the hallway, past students going to their first period, and barely make it to the library in time. I walk in sweaty and out of breath. I open the closed doors and all eyes are on me. Probably because I'm the last one to arrive and technically three minutes late.

"She's late," Noah declares, standing up and pointing at me. "She should drop the charges, she obviously doesn't care."

I walk down the makeshift aisle. There are cameras positioned throughout the room and representatives from the AV club stand behind each one. Chairs are lined up on either side of the aisle, filled by members of the student body and parents. Brown rectangular tables are lined up facing the makeshift courtroom. Caroline sits among the student council with a legal-size notepad in front of her. Being a game day, she's wearing her cheer uniform, as are a couple of the other representatives. Noah's dressed up in his jersey, as if to remind everyone why we're all here, to protect his reputation and destroy mine. A small desk sits off to the side, I assume for the witnesses that will be called forward once the trial starts.

Caroline slams a gavel down, her gaze falls upon Noah. "Elena Gilbert arrived within the time limit. Outbursts like that will cost you, Noah," she explains. "Elena, if you'll have a seat at the prosecution's table, I'll go over the rules."

A member of the debate team, Franklin Todd, sits next to Noah. Franklin was state champion in debate, and I have no doubt he was coached by the Scott family lawyer, so I'm really going to have to stick to my plan. Prove their defense wrong.

When I make it to my table, a legal pad and pen sit on the desk next to a pitcher and a glass of water. The set-up screams Caroline because the library looks transformed into a courtroom. Caroline probably poured over episodes of Law and Order to get the scene right. I pull a file folder out of my backpack and pour myself a glass of water.

Caroline continues to stand and faces one of the cameras. "The student council is here today to determine whether Noah Scott assaulted Elena Gilbert on the night of August 14th. Here to represent Noah Scott is Franklin Todd, and Elena Gilbert has chosen to represent herself. Elena Gilbert and Franklin Todd will make their opening statements and call forward witnesses which each side will have an opportunity to cross-examine. Once each side has made its case, the student council will gather and make their decision. I would like to reiterate that there isn't one single judge. This trial is judged by representatives of the student body and because of that, objecting and sustaining will not be allowed. Does either side have any questions?"

"No, your council," I state.

"No, your council," Franklin repeats.

Caroline nods. "Very well, Ms. Gilbert, your opening remarks."

I take a drink of water and stand up, facing the jury. "I don't usually go to parties," I say. "I've been avoiding them since my father was convicted," I point to Noah's side. "This trial isn't about my parents and their crimes, it's about someone who decided to have a little fun and go to a party. Noah's a good looking guy, I think we can all agree on that. Yes, I was so flattered that he decided to talk to me, flirt with me. I will not deny, nor will I ever deny, our easy rapport," I turn to look at Noah and smile. "Noah Scott is incredibly charming and accomplished. We had a connection. He was easy to talk to. When he invited me to a room to talk where it was quieter, I gladly went. I agreed to go because I thought it was just that- two people who had a connection that needed a place to have a conversation. I didn't know that I was walking into an assault. I didn't realize I was going to be forced into a situation I wasn't comfortable with."

I stand up straight and look at the student council. "I'm a virgin- I still am. I'm not ashamed of that fact. Noah tried to take that choice away from me. I may be labeled as a slut because of my mom's choices, but I shouldn't be held to the same standard, and I shouldn't be judged as such either. Noah Scott will build a convincing case, he'll say that I threw myself on him and I sent him mixed signals. Since when is "No," a mixed signal? I tried to fight him off and I was somewhat successful because I did escape. I ran out of the Salvatore mansion clutching my ripped dress, covered in bruises." I turn toward Noah and look him straight in the eyes. "Did I get what I deserved for saying no?"

I turn toward the council. "You're job as representatives of the student population is to protect the rights of all who attend Mystic Falls High School. If you don't draw the line now, this sort of thing will happen again because the Noahs of the world will think they can get away with it. Put aside your thoughts and opinions about me and my family and think about that."

I sit down to a stunned and quiet crowd while Franklin gets up. I feel Noah's eyes on me but I refuse to look at him. Franklin takes his time, paces in front of the council like a young lawyer in a 90's John Grisham movie- a bad one. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a fake southern drawl. "Noah Scott isn't only a football legend at Mystic Falls High School, he's an honor roll student, he's an Eagle Scout, he regularly volunteers to help Pop Warner junior league, and he's handled everything that the prosecution has thrown at him with grace and class. He even went on record saying that Elena Gilbert is a nice girl." Franklin takes a remote out of his pocket and points to a flat-screen computer monitor. Pictures of Noah and I, the ones he tricked me into, flash on the screen. "After all her accusations, why would Elena hang out with someone so dangerous?" An image of Noah kissing me on the cheek in the hallway pops on the screen. Due to the angle of the shot, I look like I'm blushing and smiling. "Why would she pursue a relationship? Because Elena Gilbert wants attention."

Franklin turns to me. "It's fine. We all want attention, but it shouldn't be at the cost of someone else's reputation. Noah's crime is flirting with the wrong person. A known liar. A stripper. A thief." He turns back toward the council. "Who are you going to believe? Someone who doesn't have a criminal record or someone who does?"  
Franklin sits down and this time I do look over and Noah wears a smug look on his face. Caroline stands up. "The defense's first witness is Jessica Shaw."

Jessica takes a seat behind a desk with a microphone. She looks like a senator's wife- one who's currently sleeping with the lawn boy. She straightens her buttoned-up cardigan and toys with her pearl necklace. "Please state your name for the court," Caroline says.

"Jessica Shaw."

"Do you promise to uphold the student code of conduct and be completely honest in your testimony?"

Jessica's eyes land on me. "I do."

"Very well, the defense, you may examine your witness."

Franklin stands up and paces like he did moments before. "Ms. Shaw, did you attend the Salvatore party on the night of August 14th?"

Jessica leans into the microphone, tugging on grandma's pearls. "I did."

Franklin pauses and dramatically looks Jessica in the eyes. "Please describe to the council what you saw that night."

There's a smile on her lips as she relays what happened into the microphone. I take notes, listening to every word. "I was at Damon's party cause his parties are like amazing." There's hollering from the crowd and a teacher shuts up the interrupter. This act only encourages Jessica. "I made the rounds, chatting up all my friends. I was standing in the doorway when I saw Elena Gilbert talking to Noah. She was all over him and I mean ALL over him. Her outfit was super skimpy and she kept unbuttoning her buttons, trying to draw Noah in. She has a nice rack, I'll give her that. Noah was visibly intrigued but kept pushing her away. She had a bottle in her hand and kept drinking from it. Earlier, I heard her ask a few people if they had any coke on him. I don't know if she was drugged up or what but Noah obviously looked concerned. He kept telling her she should get some water and air but Elena kept trying to pull him into a room. I think the only reason Noah went with her was that he was so worried about her. He was out the door in less than a minute and told us she fell asleep."

Franklin nods. "At any time did you think Noah assaulted her?"

Jessica shakes her head vehemently. "No. If anyone was assaulted, it was Noah. With my own two eyes, I saw him refuse her advances."

Franklin looks at the council. "No further questions."

Caroline turns towards me. "Ms. Gilbert, would you like to cross-examine the witness?"

Hell, yes, I would. But I don't say that. "Yes, please."

Caroline nods. I stand up and like I'm Jessica's closest friend, I approach the desk she's sitting at. "You're a cheerleader, right?"

Jessica rolls her eyes. "Duh!"

I decide to refrain from commenting on the fact that she chose today of all days to not wear her uniform.

"You're really good," I plaster on a smile. "Like Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader good."

Honestly, it was the only team I could think of. My mom used to watch the reality show about becoming one of those cheerleaders. Jessica smiles. She's eating whatever say up. "Actually, I'm more of a Giants girl."

The crowd behind me laughs and I join in cause this next part is going to be fucking hilarious. "You love football, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah. I think I'm the only cheerleader that understands the sport."

"As a matter of fact, didn't your dad used to play for the Giants?"

She shakes her head proudly. "He did!"

"You would do anything for the sport, huh?"  
She nods her head in admission.

"Including lie?"

Catching on to what I'm doing, she starts to backtrack. "I wouldn't lie about this."

"Are you sure?"

"Well yeah, I mean I saw what I saw."

"I'm not accusing you of lying," I affirm. "I know you're lying."

Jessica looks around wildly. "What? I'm not lying. I was there, I saw your skanky ass flirting with Noah. You were practically dry humping him against the wall."

I laugh lightly and click a button. The screen shows Jessica at a cheerleading camp for people who want to join the Giant's cheerleading team. It took a deep Instragram dive to find it. My guess is that Jessica never thought this would come out. My guess is she didn't tell anyone because they would've known the only reason she's there is because of her dad. "This picture of you was taken the night of Damon's party. If you look at the television screen behind her, it's timestamped and the dates of the camp conflict with the day of his party. You weren't at Damon's party. You were in New York. Your daddy got you into the Giants cheerleading camp and you were too embarrassed to admit it. You knew what I knew, that if you made the team, it'd be complete nepotism."

One of these days, I'll have to thank Casandra Lee for posting this pic. In the picture, Jessica is wearing a sports bra and spanks, doing a keg stand. I click the screen to the next picture showing her standing proudly in a Giants uniform.

"You didn't make the preliminary team, did you, Jessica?"

There are tears in her eyes. "No," she croaks.

"That's why you didn't want anyone to know."

She nods.

"Even with all your dad's connections, you didn't even make it to the next cut," I state. "That must hurt."

She's full-on sobbing now.

"You weren't at Damon's party, were you?"

She shakes her head. I can't help but grin.

Caroline clears her throat. "You're dismissed, Jessica."

There's an eruption of muttering. I chance a glance at Noah and wink. "The defense, your next witness?"

"The defense would like to call Bentley Caster."

Caroline goes through the same routine she did with Jessica. Bentley Caster was at Damon's party, but I know what he was really doing that night.

Franklin walks up to the stand after Bentley sits down. Bentley currently holds the highest GPA and is the chess champion of his division. No one, and I mean no one, would think that he'd lie for someone like Noah. "Were you at Damon Salvatore's party on the night of August 14th?"

Bentley looks nervous but is still able to mutter an affirmation into the microphone.

"Bentley, what did you see on the night in question?"

Bentley looks nervously around the room. "I was playing chess with my friends in one of the rooms when I left to get a drink. I saw Elena Gilbert in the hallway with Noah Scott. She was flirting with him and he was obviously trying to get her to back off. I was going to help him, but I saw him take her to another room to rest. About ten seconds later, I saw him leave the room to get some water."

Is anyone else suspicious that his testimony is almost identical to Jessica's? No, because even after her testimony, they all want to believe that Noah didn't do anything. Franklin approaches Bentley. "Are you and Noah friends?"

Bentley shakes his head. "No, we don't run in the same circles."

Everyone laughs. Everyone but me.

"So why agree to give this testimony today? There were dozens of other students who saw the same thing."

Oh, Franklin's good. Implying there are more witnesses when he only has a couple more to call to stand. He's very good.

"I don't think it's fair that Noah's being punished for something he didn't do. We may not be friends, but men like me fear being accused of rape or assault. This MeToo movement has made us all scared," he replies. There are some cheers from the crowd. I, on the other hand, want to punch Bentley Caster in the throat.

"Thank you, Bentley."

Caroline motions for me to stand up and take the stage. "The prosecution…"

I straighten my dress, pull my shoulders back and comb a wisp of hair behind my ear. I take my time. I read that it makes the witness nervous and in my case, it seems to be working. Bentley's eyes look warily toward Noah's side of the room. "You're smart, aren't you Bentley? You're nationally ranked in chess. I believe you'll start college as a Sophomore, and you have the highest GPA in the school, is that correct?"

Bentley's cheeks redden, but he looks pleased with his accomplishments. Exactly what I was going for. "Yeah," he mutters.

"It must feel good to have all your hard work throughout the years pay off."

Bentley nods. "It's probably the greatest high."

I innocently look to the ground and let out a little laugh, as if I agree with what he's saying. "It is, isn't it?"

When I was working in Mr. Hale's office I happened upon some information. Some new information. "Who's second in the class?"

Bentley runs a hand through his thin orange hair and pushes his glasses up. His gaze falls back on Noah's side. "Don't look at them," I reply. "Who's ranked second, Bentley? Someone as competitive as yourself has to know to the thousandth of a point who's below them."

He swallows. "You."

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," I mock. I heard him, I just want him to say it again.

"You," he finally states into the microphone.

"So, if Mr. Scott wins this case, in a lot of ways, so do you. The infinitesimal amount of credibility I have left will be gone. This will go on my permanent record and I highly doubt I'll get the recommendations I need to get into a competing college. Not to mention, I'll be so distracted, the hundredth of a point between you and myself may grow."

"It doesn't change what I saw," Bentley defends. "I saw you flirting with Noah like the slut we all know you are."

I laugh. I laugh so lightly that it only infuriates the little misogynist. "Where were you when I was allegedly acting like a slut?"

He smirks. He had this part of the interrogation prepared. "I was playing chess with my friends when I got thirsty and went into one of the entertainment rooms to get a drink. I saw you and Noah when I was walking through the hallway."

"At any point in the evening, were you in the front room with the dancers?"

Bentley shakes his head, but his whole face looks like a pimply tomato. "What dancers?"

I click a button on the remote. "These ones."

It's one of the videos I got after my night stripping. It clearly shows Bentley watching one of the dancers and placing a dollar in her g string and in the corner, you can see me and Noah. Bentley is plainly out of eyeshot. There are so many people around, there's no way he could've seen us. "Care to change your testimony?"

"I didn't see you," he admits. "But it doesn't mean you're not a slut. I mean, look at the video. You're right there, flirting with Noah."

I tilt my head to the side and look at the screen. "You're the one on the stand and you're the one that made up a story. I never denied Noah wasn't at one point in the evening charming or nice and I certainly never denied that we talked."

I look up at Caroline, who's actually smiling at me. "I have no further questions."

Bentley runs off the stage, avoiding Noah's side of the room. I wouldn't be surprised if he came to school with a black eye tomorrow. Franklin stands up. "The defense calls Ivy Donahue."

A small wisp of a girl walks to the stand. Her Instagram feed was full of pictures of avocado toast and lattes. Ivy loves romance and has looked up to the football players for as long as I've known her. She's not a cheerleader and she's not popular enough to attract any of them, but maybe her testimony gained her favor. I feel sorry for her. "Elena Gilbert is a whore," she states into the microphone.

Okay, maybe I don't feel sorry for her.

The crowd laughs at her bluntness. Franklin smirks. He has the crowd's favor, sure, but can they possibly deny the proof I've shown them? Of course, they can. They've never liked me. "She certainly has a reputation," Franklin agrees, reminding everyone that I'm a slut and whore will only help his case. We live in a sad, sad world.

Ivy tugs at the silver crucifix around her neck. "Over the summer, I saw her with an older man. She was wearing those tiny shorts she wears around campus and they were hooking up outside the Winn Dixie, right there in broad daylight. He was wearing a wedding ring."

I'm starting to think that Noah's strategy is to get me angry, cause it's working. Ivy's blatantly lying. Now I have to disprove her testimony and my apparent exhibitionism. Franklin looks sternly at the council and addresses the camera. "That's certainly something the administration should look into. Breaking the law like that," he tsks. "Though, Ms. Gilbert isn't afraid of breaking the law."

"No, she isn't," Ivy agrees. "I mean, she should be kicked out of school for stripping and she was arrested in front of everyone during the college fair."

"Were you at Damon Salvatore's party on the night in question?"

Ivy nods. "Yes, I saw Elena practically maul Noah. She was all over him, it was completely indecent. I heard a couple of people joke that they should get a room, but Noah, being the gentleman he is, told them to go to hell. Then Elena started to look sick so Noah took her to a room. He left soon after, so there's no way anything could've happened. I think she just threw herself around the room to create any bruises or it was all photoshopped. She's crazy like that."

I hear chuckles behind me. I take a deep breath and look at my notes. I can't afford to get angry. I need Ivy to think she won so she'll let her guard down when I cross-examine her. I cast my head down, think about my sad pathetic life, and the tears naturally come.

"Where were you when you saw all of this?" Franklin asks.

"I was with my girlfriends. We were getting ready to leave the party because it got too wild for us, so I saw everything as I was leaving."

"Thank you, Ivy."

Franklin sits down and I stand up. I dramatically wipe the tears from my eyes and sniffle. "You're a good, Christian girl, aren't you, Ivy?"

She curtly nods her head.

"Go to church every Sunday?"

"Since I was a little girl," she drawls out in a fake southern accent.

"You know, some of those commandments are so hard to follow," I remark. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain. Don't covet. Honor thy father and thy mother," I hum to myself. "That's the hardest one for me to follow," I admit.

"Me too," Ivy says. "Sometimes they don't know what's best for me."

"Right? I mean, if I honored my father and mother, wouldn't I be in jail right now?" Ivy laughs, she's let her guard down. I go in for the kill. "You don't always honor your father and mother, do you, Ivy?"

"No, but I try to."

"And that's important," I state. "It's important to try and ask the Lord for forgiveness on Sunday."

"Amen," she sings.

"Are you going to ask the Lord for forgiveness for lying when you go to church this Sunday?" I ask as sweetly as possible.

"What do you mean?"

"I spoke with your mother last night and she seemed to think that on the night of Damon's party, you were volunteering at the soup kitchen, just like you do every Saturday night. The soup kitchen in Richmond, so there's no way you could've gotten back in time to witness what you claim to have witnessed."

Ivy's mouth drops. "I…"

"So are you lying to us or were you lying to your mother?"

Ivy's eyes get big and tears start to fall. I actually believe they're real tears. "I lied to my momma."

I nod sadly. "But you're also lying to us, aren't you?"

"What?" She croaks. "No!" Her wild eyes fall on Noah. "I swear, I'm not lying."

"On the Bible?" I can't help but ask.

She nods her head wildly. "On the Bible."

"I'm going to ask you one last time if you're sure you saw what you saw."

Ivy clasps her necklace in her hand and nods. "I swear it."

"Okay, Ivy. I did warn you."

I click play. This video took me a total of six hours to find. Ivy's testimony was the hardest one to crack because she's not crazy about posting selfies or pictures of her friends on social media. She did, however, tag a guy in one photo of the beach. Just a photo of a pair of footprints in the sand and some poem captioned underneath. He's a professor at the University of Richmond. If you weren't as obsessive as I am, you'd never know she was having an affair with a professor of poetry. Thing is, she spelled his name wrong in his handle when she tagged him, but I googled it and when I did find his Instagram, I found a very steamy video of him making out with his muse. He doesn't tag her, but if you know Ivy, you know it's her. Not very many people have blindingly light hair. Plus she's wearing her field hockey jersey in the beginning of the video and her name is clearly visible until the professor removes it.

"Professor J. Pinto of the creative writing department is forty-five years old," I look at Ivy. "I think you're the one with a daddy complex."

I look at the council and address them. "If you look in the background, behind Ivy's naked back, you can see the clock illuminate the date and time. I'd also like to add, that this video takes place in Richmond," I turn back toward Ivy, who's sobbing uncontrollably. "You know what else I found out when I was researching your whereabouts? There isn't a soup kitchen affiliated with your church in Richmond. You have a lot of repenting to do on Sunday, Ivy."

I sit down and grin from ear to ear. So far I've disproved all of Noah's witnesses. Problem is, I'm the next witness. I could've opted out-as is my right, according to Caroline, but I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to defend myself. Noah did opt-out, which means I'll not be able to question him. I also don't have any witnesses to call to the stand because no one in this school would be willing to vouch for me.

When I look over at Noah and Franklin, they don't look upset at all. As a matter of fact, they both look confident. How was this all so easy? Of the dozens of people who would've defended Noah on the stand, he chose three he doesn't even like. Three I don't think he ever trusted. What does he have up his sleeve? "The defense calls Elena Gilbert to the stand."

I walk over to the chair and Caroline gives me the same speech she gave the other witnesses. When she's done, Franklin walks up to me. "You've had a hard life, haven't you, Elena?"

"I think that's subjective. I wouldn't wish a lot of things that have happened to me on anyone, but I have a lot to be grateful for. I'm healthy. I'm getting a good education, and I have goals. I'd say I'm incredibly blessed," I reply into the microphone.

"Is your mom around?" He asks.

"No."

"Do you visit your dad in jail?"

"I've never visited him in jail," I answer honestly. I don't want to lie because I don't need to. I have nothing to hide.

"So how are you making money? Paying bills? Rent?"

Oh shit, the house. I need to evade this line of questioning and quick. There's no way he knows about Dom; Dom wouldn't be that careless. "I work at Patty's Diner."

"That pays for everything?"

I shrug. "I've had to sell things that I owned before everything got taken to pay my dad's court fees. I pawned my neckless and charm bracelet to help with bills this month. That along with my job have covered everything. I'm not living in the best part of town and I bike everywhere- so expenses are kind of low."

"Noah's interested in you," he says. "Wouldn't it help to be married to someone who will have a multi-million dollar football contract once he's out of school?"

"So this accusation is my version of playing hard to get?" I spit out. Everyone laughs at that.

Franklin shakes his head. "No, that wasn't your original intention. When Noah brushed you off at the party, you were angry. You know Noah's family comes from money, and if you win the case today, I'm sure you know you can sue the family."

"I don't know if you just heard, but I have the second-highest GPA in our graduating class- soon to be highest. I'm not dumb, _Frank_," I enunciate his nickname to annoy him. Franklin likes to go by Franklin and only Franklin. "There's no way I'd win in court because the defense has spent the past few weeks slandering me in the press. Besides, I have better things to do. Like get into college and kick ass at the next cross country meet."

"So you're saying that you wouldn't win in an actual court of law but you'd win here?"  
Well done, Frank. Well done.

"I'm not a lawyer," I retort. "I can't afford one that'd beat the expensive attorney the defense could buy. Plus I have no desire to sue. All I really want is for people to not get away with assault because they have money and can hire private investigators and buy off the local paper. Just because he's a star football player, doesn't mean he should get away with this sort of thing."

"Let's talk about the paper," Franklin says. Here we go, what Damon was warning me about. "You're close to the Salvatores, aren't you?"

My palms start to sweat so I wipe them on my dress before clasping them back together. I don't like where this line of questioning is going. "I was, yes."

"You spent a lot of time at their mansion after school."

"Our families were friends," I defend.

"You spent the night there a lot," he continues. "Was that the first time you tried to seduce someone into giving you money? You had to have been fourteen. Did your mom teach you what to do? Did she coach you?"

My hand shakes as I pull the microphone closer. "W-what are you talking about?"

"Luciana Perez, a former housekeeper of the Salvatores, went on record saying that she saw you, on May 10, 2015, in Giuseppe Salvatore's office in nothing but a towel. That same day, she saw you leaving his bedroom with a blanket wrapped around your body and Giuseppe following after you, red-faced like he'd just been exerting himself. The private investigators hired by the Scott family found that on the following day, your dad's bank account had a deposit of a quarter of a million dollars from the Salvatores. Luciana quit the next day. The facts are there, Ms. Gilbert. You lied about Noah because you were vengeful and wanted the money. You threw yourself at him just like you threw yourself at Giuseppe Salvatore. Except Noah was smart- he wasn't falling for your game," Franklin states. He pauses right in front of the stand and leans forward. "That wasn't the only time you lied, was it, Elena?"

I need to get this trial back on track. I need to remind the council that Scott's lying. I need to remind them that I disproved him three times. He called three witnesses and coached them into lying. I look directly into Noah's eyes. He's confident he's going to win, a smirk plays at his lips telling me he isn't done. I almost want to laugh- he lead me into a false sense of security with the other witnesses knowing I'd be given a list of who he's calling to the stand. He was planning to wait until I took the stand to go for the kill. "Your private investigators cooked up a fascinating tale. Is that because they couldn't find anything factual? Sure, they have plenty of dirt on my parents, but not me. How much did you pay Luciana for that story?" I turn toward Franklin. "My parents' bank records have nothing to do with me or this case. You're reaching, Frank."

"So you're saying you've never lied before?"

He's being ridiculous but I can't help but feel everyone's eyes on me. I feel the eyes of the people watching on the televisions in their classroom. I feel the weight of everything on me, like an elephant sitting on my chest. "Of course, I've lied. What kind of question is that? Everyone lies, it's how Mystic Falls functions- it's how the world goes round. It's not like I go around making up stories and lying my way through life."

"Of course." Franklin nods and paces the front of the room. "You've never lied to the police?"

I swallow and scratch and itch on my arm. "I-I…"

Franklin waves his arms around prompting me to continue. "You…?"

That day. He's talking about that day. The day my life went to shit. The day I made one of the worst mistakes of my life. He's talking about _that_ day. How can he know? How can anyone know, the records are sealed. My gaze falls on Noah who's wearing a Cheshire Cat grin. I just need one familiar face. One nice face that will remind me I can get through this. Chase is in the audience, looking like he wished he had popcorn to go with the show. Katy looks like she's having the best day of her life. Caroline's eyes are downcast. Everyone assumed and I let them assume whatever because the outrageous lies were better than the truth.

"Umm.." I hesitate, my eyes once again scan the room. So many faces. So many mocking spiteful faces. People that hate me. People that are out to get me. Spots dance before my eyes, so I rub them with the palms of my hand. I take a deep breath. "Sure, I've lied to get out of a speeding ticket or two."

Franklin tsks, he fucking tsks like he's disappointed in me even though I know he's loving every second of this. "On May 4th, 2015, your brother and Stefan Salvatore decided to go for a joy ride. They took a 1963 Porsche from Giuseppe's garage, drove it down the long drive, and south on the Mystic Falls Highway," Franklin clicks the projector. On the screen is a picture of the crash. My eyes water as I flashback to that horrible day. "Jeremy Gilbert was driving the car. He swerved into oncoming traffic and was hit by an eight-wheeler. Stefan Salvatore was pronounced dead on the scene," Franklin changes the screen and projects the toxicology report on Stefan. "Stefan had a combination of Ritalin and Dexedrine in his system at the time of the crash. Witnesses said the car was swerving in and out of traffic at over a hundred miles an hour. You were there, weren't you?"

There's a poster on a corkboard of a snowcapped mountain on the back wall of the library. I stare at it, transfixed. It says, "Tough times don't last, tough people do." That fucking quote has nothing to do with snowcapped mountains. Those were the toughest days of my life and I lasted. But the thing is, I'm weak. I couldn't tell anyone what I knew because before Stefan and Jeremy went joyriding, I knew my dad was dealing. I'd known it for months and did nothing. I kept going to cheer practices and hanging out with Damon and told no one because I was a fucking coward.

"You were there, weren't you?" Franklin repeats.

I'm still staring at that poster. My eyes follow the swooping cursive lettering. I project myself onto that mountain top where I can be alone. I just want to be alone and never have to deal with anyone again. Never have to deal with disappointing anyone again. Tears drop onto the legal size pad in front of me. The blue ink blurs, smudging the lines on the blank page. "Yeah, I was there," I croak. "I saw them wheel my little brother's best friend into an ambulance. I saw them zip up the black body bag. I crossed the police tape. I told them they can't question my brother without his parents. Like some sick twist of fate, the driver of the crash was perfectly fine. But then, he wasn't. I've never seen Jeremy look like that- like life had left him. He was a living, breathing corpse."

The room is quiet. So quiet and cold. Even Franklin is stunned. "Cops questioned me instead. They found the pills in the destroyed car, hidden in an Altoid tin. Damon Salvatore was getting into fights at school. He'd been caught smoking pot and drinking while he should've been in gym class. He had a record. A few months earlier, Daman and I were walking through the mall together. He bought me a frozen yogurt. A guy in line behind us grabbed my ass and make crude noises. Damon kicked his ass. Beat him up so badly he ended up in the hospital. My dad was still hiding his drug operation, but I knew about it. I knew where Jeremy got the drugs but if I told the police that, my dad would end up in jail and my family, we were already barely holding it together. My parents were fighting all the time. My mom was off sleeping around. People were starting to notice that the perfect Doctor Gilbert and his family weren't so perfect. I knew this would ruin everything. So I told the police that Damon provided the drugs."

Franklin can't even ask any follow up questions. The room is so quiet and still, it's like everyone is on pause. I can't stop. Now that I've started to confess everything I've tried to hide, I can't stop. "It didn't matter anyway," I continue. "Jeremy felt so guilty he killed his best friend that he killed himself a couple of days later with my dad's pills. My family fell apart anyway. I only delayed it by thirty-six hours. By then, Damon's dad had shipped him off to rehab. He made a deal with a judge, one he golfs with, to get the charges dismissed if he went to rehab right away. Giuseppe didn't even believe Damon was innocent. Damon Salvatore has been torturing me for the past four years and I can't even blame him. I have no doubt he provided the defense with information to help them. I deserve every cruel thing thrown my way because Damon was in rehab while his brother, his only brother, was being put into the ground. He didn't even get to say goodbye. That's my fault. So yes, I did lie. I lied to everyone and my life still went to shit. Jeremy's suicide note outed my dad to the police. Once my dad was under investigation, everything he'd been up to for the last five years was out in the open," I pause

and gaze at Franklin who's been standing in the same position the entire time. "Next question?"

Silence still lingers in the room. "Franklin," Caroline shouts, trying to get his attention.

He clears his throat. "Right, sorry." He clicks the remote in hand. "This is a video taken the night of the party."

I know the video he's talking about- it's the same one Noah showed me in his car. It'll show me flirting with Noah, practically falling all over him. Then it'll show us going into the room. Noah won. He fucking won.

"Wait," Franklin cries, suddenly coming alive. He points to the screen, angrily. "This isn't the video."

He's right, it's not the video Noah showed me. We all watch as the video that plays is broadcast throughout the entire room- the entire school. It's a video from a security camera, cast above the party. I don't think anyone knew this existed before this moment. It clearly shows me and Noah flirting, but it also shows me stumbling and Noah helping me up. He guides me to a room, goes into the room, and then leaves. The video shows Chase outside the door, handing him a pill. Noah slips it in a water bottle, shakes the water bottle, and goes back into the room. A few minutes later, I emerge, running. I'm clutching the bodice of my dress. I have visible marks on my arms, chest, and face. I'm running to the front door like my life depends on it. Then something clicks in my mind. Words uttered to me weeks ago. Damon knows everything that goes on during his parties. Damon knew. He knew the entire time what happened. He knew I was telling the truth. This is how Damon knows if people are taking videos of the dancers he hires, he has security cameras throughout the house.

"That's not the video," Franklin yells. "That's not what I was going to show."

Noah looks like he shit himself. His face pales. The whole room is in an uproar. I remain rooted to the spot while people around me talk. Once the video ends, the council forms a huddle. Can I sit down now? Can I leave? After a few frantic minutes, Caroline slams down her gavel and stands. "Order in the court," she says. "Order in the court."

The mock courtroom quiets, and I wonder if I'm going to have to make my closing remarks. What could Noah's team possibly say after that? Mr. Hale's secretary runs up to Caroline and hands her a folded paper. She reads it and nods seriously. "The council has discussed the matter and in light of recent evidence, the council finds the defendant guilty of all charges. Noah Scott, the principal would like a word. Elena Gilbert, on behalf of the student body, we're sorry for everything you've been through. The principal said that you're excused for the day."

I stand, my legs are weak. I don't know how I'm going to make it out of school. I don't know how I'm going to get home. I won but it doesn't feel like I won.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

In a movie, when a bomb goes off everything is silent except for a high pitched deafening noise. Time slows down so the audience can catch a glimpse of the fallout. Debris and fire engulf the screen. The fate of our favorite characters is unknown. When the verdict was read, I was deaf to the pandemonium that erupted in the library and everything seemed to unfold in slow motion. Noah punched Franklin and accidentally elbowed a teacher when he tried to intervene. Jessica and Katy pointed at me threateningly, and though I couldn't hear them through all the chaos, I'm pretty sure I was called a variety of names that need to be retired. It is 2019 after all. Through all the chaos, Rafe found me and helped me get out, ducking to avoid getting hit by a tossed chair or stapler.

Rafe guides me to an empty classroom so I can catch my breath. My heart is beating so fast I can feel it pulsate in my ears. He hands me a bottle of Evian, which I take eagerly. "I thought you might need that," he says.

I sit down in an empty chair and finish the entire bottle. "You won," he observes calmly, sitting on a table across from me. "You must be happy."

I don't know how I feel, to be honest. I feel like I lost somehow. Rafe's perfect hair falls just so on his forehead, framing his perfectly green eyes. "You think this solves everything?"

He shakes his head adamantly. "No, I wasn't saying that. I just mean you can finally put this part of your life to rest."

"Do you know why no one believed me?" His eyes look wary like he doesn't want to hear the answer, which only makes me want to push. "Because I'm cursed."

"Cursed?"

"I'm not meant to be happy."

Rafe gets up from the desk, takes a couple of steps toward me and takes my hands. "You have me. I'll make you happy."

If only it were that easy. I feel my eyes water. "You think that you have that power?"

Rafe kneels down so he's eye level with me. "I can get us out of here. We can stay with my dad."

"You hate your dad."

"I'll tolerate him for you," he affirms.

"I'm broken, Rafe, and I am beyond repair."

He sighs heavily and clasps my hands with his. "I can fix you if you'll let me."

The problem is, I don't want to be fixed. The sad reality of that fact in light of Rafe's optimism is what propels me to say, "It's never going to happen."

His brows knit in confusion. "What's never going to happen?"

"Us," I reply sadly. He wants more than friendship and I don't think I'm capable of more.

His green eyes scan my face, searching for an answer that contradicts the one I verbalized. "This is because of him isn't it?"

"Who?" Though for some reason, I think I know.

"Damon Salvatore," he answers in disgust.

I laugh. I don't mean to, but hysterical laughter escapes from my lips. "Nu uh," I hiccup between breaths. "No."

A look crosses Rafe's face that I don't recognize. Rafe is so level headed and California chill. Sure he got into a fight with Damon, but I never saw this look on his face, one that can only be described as indignant. "I see the way he looks at you."

I shrug. "So?"

Rafe gets into my space and points his finger. "But I see the way you look at him too."

I stand up from the desk and back away, walking towards the door. Rafe follows. "And how do I look at him, Rafe? Because if you're seeing anything but complete hatred, you need to get your eyes checked."

Rafe continues to stalk toward me, slowly shaking his head. I'm backed up against the door, the knob biting me in the back. I carefully move my arm behind my back so I can make an escape, from this conversation and from this version of Rafe. "When you two are together, it's like no one else exists," he grits his teeth. "And I don't get it, Elena. How can you be that way with him? After everything he did, how can you stand to look at him?"

I swallow. "It's complicated, Rafe. I've told you that."

"But I'm right here!" He pounds his chest. "I want to protect you and take care of you. I want to get you out of this town, but you won't go, will you?" He pleads. "I think I love you."

Oh, God. By the look in his eyes, the wild, insecure look, he means it. "How?" Is all I manage to utter.

Rafe takes my right hand in his and strokes the back of my palm. His eyes water with sincerity. "You're perfect and when I see you stand up against everyone, I only want to protect you."

My eyes fall on the hand he's holding. "That's the problem, Rafe," I say quietly. "You think I'm perfect. I'm not. If you heard, actually heard, anything I said on the stand today, you'd know that."

Rafe drops his hand and runs his hands through his blonde hair. Crazed. "You'll understand. One of these days, you'll understand how much I love you."

"Rafe," I sigh. "You love the idea of me. You like the damaged girl you saw on the stand because you see someone who can be fixed. I don't want to be in a relationship with someone who wants to fix me."

Rafe lets out an animalistic grunt in frustration. He takes his backpack and angrily flings it across the room. The moment I turn the knob, I hear beakers and test tubes breaking.

I'm able to slip out the back of the school and walk home under ominous dark clouds. I was tempted to take an Uber, but the moment I put on my earbuds and start listening to French for Rabbits, my brain starts processing everything that happened. Damon knew. He knew the entire time that I was innocent and yet, he continued to torture me. He did come through for me though, which confuses me even more.

Conversations from the night of his party come back to me. When Chase and his friends had a blow up doll meant to look like me, he talked about running me out of this town. He was also angry with Damon. Even one of the girls commented that Damon wouldn't like what they were putting me through. What's really going on with the social hierarchy at school? Was the video release today a reminder of who's on top?

By the time I make it home, I pull my key out and unlock the door only to find it already unlocked. I carefully open the door all the way, not eager to make myself known. I hear hurried scuffling coming from the hall. We literally have nothing to steal and Dom reminded me this morning that I have a day, so I doubt this is him. I let my backpack slid down my arm so I can grasp the straps with my hand and use it as a weapon when my mom walks out of her bedroom door. "Elena!" She screams, clasping a hand over her chest. Her other hand is firmly grasping a duffle bag. "I didn't think you'd be home this early."

"Mom!" I yell and without thinking, ignoring her surprise, I drop my bag and run up to her, hugging her around the middle. On any other day, I would've flung my backpack at her, intruder or not but I needed someone who knew me. I needed the woman that tucked me in at night and made sure my stuffed teddy bear was firmly clasped in my arms. I may not have seen that woman in twelve years, but I know she's still there. She had to be. Except, instead of returning my hug, she stiffened.

My thoughts become a jumbled mess and I hate myself. I hate myself for showing weakness. I hate myself for giving into an illusion. I was alone. The one person that genuinely cared about me died. My dad is in jail. The woman standing before me, reacting like I'm some stranger, has been physically and emotionally absent for over a decade.

"Elena, calm down," she admonishes.

I promptly let go, my eyes falling on her duffle bag, the duffle bag she was packing not unpacking. "You're leaving."

My mom gives an irritated huff. "You're a big girl, Elena. You're eighteen, you can take care of yourself. Right now, I need to take care of me."

My eyes searched hers, confused. "You have to stay, Mom." She needs to stay. She has to stay so I can eventually leave this town. "Domenico Moretti broke in last week, he said you owe him money and if you don't pay, I have to sell for him."

Her eyes widened in fear. "I have to get out of here."

"You can't go!" I yell, grabbing her wrist. "If you stay, he won't come after me."

"Elena," she yanks her wrist out of my grasp, causing me to fall to the floor. "Domenico won't hurt you if you do what he says."

What was she saying? Who was this woman? I slowly stand to my feet and point my index finger at her, shaking. "You stole my earrings. You left me to deal with rent and bills," I yell, tears dripping down my cheeks, blinding me. "All I'm asking is for you to stay. Just stay. I'll help you deal with him, but you can't leave. You can't leave me alone," I plead, anger and overwhelming sadness crawl up my throat. "You can't leave me alone. You're my mom," I croak. "You're all I have left."

My mother stands by the door, hesitating, her hand grasped firmly around the handle. She's thinner than I've ever seen her, her jean skirt hangs off her hips. The bedazzled pink blouse clings to her bony frame. I wouldn't be surprised if she had track marks hidden under the sleeves of her blouse.

She cooly runs her fingers through her highlighted hair. Her gaze tracks me from my converse sneakers to my eyes. She pauses and stands a little straighter. "You're not my daughter," she confesses. She drops the duffle and takes a couple of steps away from the door, closer to me. Then, like a bomb set on an eighteen year timer, she blows. "If I hadn't agreed to take you in, my son would still be alive. Grayson was going to leave Mystic Falls, but then he took you in from that whore and I agreed to keep his secret. Then suddenly, he didn't want to leave anymore. Instead of taking a multimillion-dollar job offer working at a hospital in Chicago, we stayed in Mystic Falls. Jeremy would've been born in Chicago, and safe from the stink of this town. But Grayson wanted you to be raised around his friends- the same ones that turned their backs on us."

"You're not…" my voice trails off. "You're not my mom?"

Miranda laughs a high pitched laugh. "No," she breathes out a sigh of relief. "And it feels so good to tell you that. The least you can do for the family that took you in and raised you is handle the Moretti business," she picks up her bag. "I'm sure Domenico loves you, take advantage, sweetie. If you service him the way I'm sure you serviced Giuseppe Salvatore, he'll knock a few thousand off the debt."

Miranda's bubble gum pink lips curl into a smile before she turns around and leaves. The moment the door shuts, I fall to the ground. I claw at my arms as hysterical sobs overcome my entire being. I feel it in my bones, the sense of isolation and complete abandon. I should be relieved that I'm not related to that woman, but it's another piece of my identity that's gone. I was a happy kid, but was that all an illusion? I know that as we get older, our brains block out certain memories to protect ourselves. Memories we can't handle. I already remember so much bad, what could my brain possibly be blocking out?

My mom- Miranda, had read the article. She referred to something that came up at the trial, Giuseppe Salvatore. I don't know what Lucinda saw, but Giuseppe has never touched me and I certainly didn't seduce him. Thanks to that article, I'm guessing everyone believes it. I doubt that will change after news of the verdict breaks unless of course, the local paper decides not to release the news. That wouldn't surprise me at all.

I let myself sit in the middle of my living room for a solid three minutes. For three minutes, I curse my mother and cry over the death of my family. Then I wipe my eyes, sit up and change out of that wretched dress and into jean shorts, a light grey v-neck tee, and a black hoodie. Raindrops patter on the windows as I gather my few belongings to pack. Dom may have paid the rent on this horrible house, but I don't have to stay. If I can get ahead of it, and find a place to spend the night-maybe a shelter or something, Dom will still come after me but this will buy me time.

I search everywhere for money or something to sell. My mom didn't leave a thing behind, but I have cash stashed in my room for just this reason. The moment Dom first visited me, I kept all the tips shared with me at the diner, rolled them up, and put them in a spare jacket pocket. I count the money. I don't have a lot, cause it's only been a week, but I have enough to pay for a motel for a couple of nights until I can figure things out.

I don't want it to look like I left, which would send Dom into a blind rage, so I only take necessary items. I search through a box of documents looking for my birth certificate, hoping it'd give me some clue as to who my parents are, but unsurprisingly, I only find Jeremy's birth certificate and death certificate, which I try not to look at. Since I'm not planning on coming back, I take some things of Jer's that I held on to. A folder of his sketches, a picture of the two of us at the beach, and a picture of him and Stefan, arms wrapped around each other, grinning like the little goobers they were.

I carefully pack the folder, along with my clothes, toiletries, and computer. I walk through the house one last time, checking to make sure I grabbed anything of importance before I slip out the back door. Rain is coming down and the sky is starting to darken. I pull my hoodie over my head and hiding in shadow, walk through the alley toward the street behind mine. I know that Dom is watching me, but I don't think he thought to watch the back of the house. I left the lights and television on before I walked out the back door, and enough personal items to make it look like I'm still living there.

I've been walking for fifteen minutes in the rain, which is just fucking perfect. The only light I have to illuminate my path is the occasional car that drives by and lightning which cracks over the horizon. Droplets of water fall from the cotton hood of my sweatshirt, temporarily blinding me. The drizzle has turned into a storm. Small puddles in the sidewalk merge into larger black pools of water. I hop over them as I continue to stride toward the nearest motel.

Through the pounding rain, a car pulls over to the sidewalk where I'm walking. I ignore the driver and continue to walk, pulling my hood lower over my head. For half a block, the car slowly follows me. I'm about to run and cut through someone's yard, fearing it's one of Dom's men when I hear my name. "Elena!"

Damon stands beside his Camaro in a black leather jacket and black v-neck tee. I ignore him and keep walking. "Elena!" He repeats as if I don't know he's calling my name.

When I've walked a far enough distance away, he gets back in his car, turns the ignition and follows me. "Elena! Get in the fucking car!"

Damon pulls over ahead of me, gets out of his car and slams the door shut. He has the nerve to look angry. Droplets of water cascade off his forehead, snaking down the furrow in his brow. "Get. In. The. Car!"

"No!" I yell and keep walking.

"You're so stubborn," he shouts, blocking my path. "You'd rather walk in a storm than let me give you a ride."

He thinks I'm refusing a ride because I'm stubborn? I stride toward him. "You knew," I poke him in the chest with my index finger. "You knew this entire time I was telling the truth and you let everyone believe Noah's side of the story."

Damon rolls his eyes. "You're overreacting. If you'd just let me explain…"

"Overreacting?" I yell, feeling a storm brewing within me. "Overreacting? You had me arrested!"

"Fake arrested."

"You stole my bike."

"I got it back for you," he corrects.

"You filmed me stripping!"

Damon scoffs. "You were dressed as Wonder Woman and you passed out."

I take a deep breath, trying to think rationally. His jeans are soaked and his black shirt is so wet it's clinging to his abs. He looks like he walked out of a cologne ad, an expensive one. Lightning flashes and thunder cracks in the distance. This man. This man who was at one point a dear friend took my pain and twisted it for his pleasure. "You made me think you didn't believe me," I say quietly, licking the rain from my lips. My eyes focusing on the silver buckles of his boots and I shiver under the cold rain. "You've hated me for so long, Damon, I no longer know what to believe."

I don't look at him, but he doesn't say anything. Silence stretches between us as I step around him and continue to walk toward the motel. Damon's hand clasps around my wrist, not tightly but so gentle I know I could easily break out of his grasp if I wanted to. "Please," his voice cracks. "Let me get you out of this rain."

I break his grasp and turn back toward my path. "No."

He groans in frustration and follows me. "Can't you ever be weak, Elena? You don't have to be strong all the time!"  
Everything that has happened in the last two hours explodes. My mom. Dom coming after me. The trial. I spin back around, place my hands on his chest and push him as hard as I can. He stumbles backward but remains standing. "I have to be strong, Damon!" I shout. "My mom isn't my mom. I don't even know if my dad is my dad. I am all alone. I have no one."

Damon looks determined and strong as he holds his ground, unbothered by my assault. "You have me!"

"You hate me!" I yell, pushing him again.

Damon growls. He actually growls in frustration. "I hate you so much that I love you!"

"That doesn't even make sense!" I scream.

Damon's hands wrap around my wrists and he tugs me toward him. I fall into him, my body pressed firmly against his frame. His eyes linger on mine. "It makes sense," he whispers before his lips crash onto mine. He isn't soft, he's overbearing and consuming. But my body craves his brutality. My lips are pliant against his as we find our rhythm with rain dancing around is. Damon lowers one of his hands to the small of my back to pull me closer. I willingly open my mouth to him as he greedily takes what I so easily give.

My hands wrap around his neck, trying to get closer, clinging for dear life. Damon moans into my mouth but his pleasure does something to me. I can't feel this way. I can't do this. Not with him. My hands move to his chest and I push him away. He stalls for a moment. "No, I can't!" I shout, striding away from him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Damon chases after me, "Elena, wait!"

I continue to get as much distance as I can between him and that…whatever that was.

"Will you fucking stop! It's raining buckets, you're going to get yourself hurt."

I spin around. "I'm already hurt!"

A pained expression crosses his face. "It's my fault."

"It's my fault," he repeats. Night sky raindrops fall around us in a curtain of black diamonds. "God, I was so mad at you. When Dad sent me to rehab that first time, I was almost relieved. I didn't have to see you. I didn't have to confront what I did. Instead, I went to a five-star resort in Malibu and drowned myself in alcohol some senator's son snuck in."

My head tilts to the side, finally taking in what he's saying without letting my anger blind me. Seeing that I'm not going to take off again, he strides me until we're so close, I can feel the heat reverberate off his skin and hear his heart patter with the rain in a hurried staccato. His blue eyes mirror the storm raging around us as he continues. "I love you so much I hate you and I don't know how to make sense of it."

"What do you mean, Damon?"  
"I see you in the halls at school, so strong, like no one can fuck with you. It's sexy as hell the way you weather the storm day after day, even ones I cause," he says. "The way you handled the trial this morning…" his index finger and thumb tilts my chin so I'm forced to look into his eyes. "You were a Queen slaying her subjects."

I shake my head slightly. "Damon, if it wasn't for your video, I would've lost. You heard what I confessed."

"But you were wrong," he replies. He's confident in his words like he's made peace with what he's about to tell me. "It wasn't your fault."

"I lied about where Jeremy got the drugs and blamed you!" I yell, but he places an index finger over my lips, shushing me.

"But I deserved it."

My eyes narrow. What does he mean?

Damon closes his eyes and takes a breath. "I was so in love with you when we were kids. I think I would've done anything for you," he pauses. "You were so charming, everyone was in love with you and you had no clue. I had to have you. You were mine from the very beginning. My friend. My love. Jeremy and Stefan were always around. You and I were constantly stuck watching them and I wanted alone time with you," he tugs me closer by my belt loops so our wet bodies are pressed against each other.

"I knew you were coming over to pick up Jeremy." He's talking about that horrible day when I was biking to pick up Jeremy. "I saw them drive off," he swallows, his eyes glistening. "I saw them take Dad's car and drive. I thought they'd just drive around the block. I didn't think…" his voice cracks as the words tumble out of his lips. Words I can tell he's held on to for four years. "I wanted to spend time with you. I loved you so much I just wanted it to be us for a short time. I didn't think…I didn't think…"

"You loved me?"

"I hated you for it. If I hadn't been so in love, Jeremy and Stefan would still be alive. If I hadn't been so selfish, they would've never gotten into that car. I should've stopped them. I could've but I just wanted a little more time with you."

Damon's been torturing himself as long as I have and for the same reason. Thunder cracks in the distance, Damon pulls me closer, shielding me from the storm. The words that tumble out of my mouth are shaky and unsure. "You were fifteen."

His head dips slightly, he brushes pebbles of raindrops from my forehead. "And I hated you so much I couldn't look at you."

"And I took your wrath because I deserved it."

The pads of his fingers trail down my face, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He cups my cheek tenderly and lowers his mouth to mine. Like I'm a piece of lost treasure, he devours me slowly and I willingly give him everything. His velvet lips are so soft against mine. He tastes like rain and bourbon. "Wrap your hands around my neck," he orders. The moment I lace my fingers behind his head, his hands grasp my ass and he hikes me up so I'm forced to wrap my legs around his back. He holds me like I weigh nothing, his lips staying fused to mine. Damon spins me around and props me against the hood of his car. His eyes never leaving me, he takes off my backpack and unzips my hoodie. "Stay," he mutters, kissing me again before he places my backpack and wet hoodie in his car.

"You always did like the rain," I comment, remembering the number of times we got stuck in a storm while out biking when we were kids.

"So do you," he replies, leaning into me so I'm laying on the hood of his car. His hands grasp my thighs, motioning for me to wrap them around his back. When I comply, he groans as I grind into him, feeling him harden against me. My nipples pebble beneath his chest. Damon's damp lips skim over my neck and landing on my clavicle.

"Damon," I pant, squirming beneath him, needing more. His lips find mine as they begin their assault. Damon's hands snake under the hem of my damp shirt. His calloused hands massage the skin beneath my breast. "More," I breathed into his lips, rocking into him.

While we kiss, Damon unbuttons my jean shorts. His hand slips into my panties and his rough fingers find that bundle of nerves that has tightened to the point of pain since he laid me out on the hood of his car. "You're so wet," he groans into me.

"Obviously," I reply.

Damon chuckles darkly. "I wasn't talking about the rain."

I wrap my hand around his neck and pull him to me. "Cocky bastard," I say before pressing my mouth to his. His talented fingers deftly swirl around my clit, and I break our kiss to scream into the rain. "Fuck!"

My back arches into him. Damon doesn't stop, his lips hover over my neck before landing on my breast. He takes my nipple in his teeth causing me to shout expletives in the air. God, this man. His lips find mine and I open myself to him. His tongue strokes mine. It's cold everywhere else but between ourselves. We're a furnace while rain continues to pound around us. Damon pushes a finger in me while his thumb continues its ministrations. I pant, unfamiliar with what's going on as I feel myself lose control. "I've got you," he whispers in my ear. "I've always got you."

I break and scream out. Damon swallows my cries with his lips, staying with me until I come down off the high he just gave me. Just as my breathing even outs, Damon places a soft kiss upon my lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a black Mercedes slowly crawl to a stop a block away from us. A black Mercedes is out of place in this neighborhood, not far from my house. My heart rate picks back up, I push Damon away from me. "We gotta go!" I yell, jumping off the hood of the car and buttoning my shorts.

"Elena, what's going on?"

"Damon get in the fucking car," I yell, hopping into the passenger side of the car, ducking from view. He runs to the driver's side and starts the car. "Go, go, go!"


	14. Chapter 14

Message from the author: Thank you for being patient as I continue this fic. I'm not even halfway through this story, but I'll be better about updating on the weekends, even if it's a short chapter. Thank you for all the reviews and messages of support.

Chapter 14

"Elena," he yells, pressing on the gas. "What the fuck is going on?"

I slide down the seat and lower my head so no one outside the car can see me. "Nothing."

Damon swears, his eyes flicking to my crouched position. "Clearly."

"Just drive, Damon."

"My fingers still smell like your pussy, so don't tell me to just drive."

"Dick!" I blurt out. "Enjoy the smell while it lasts cause it's never happening again."

I cringe at how dirty my words sound but Damon's dark chuckle eases my embarrassment. He turns his head and lazily gazes my bare legs still dripping rainwater on the floor mat. "You're squirming says otherwise."

"Turn right, right here," I order, ignoring his comment and peering out the rearview mirror to see if the Mercedes is following us. I no longer see it.

He makes a sharp left.

"What are you doing?"

"Losing the Benz," he mutters.

He knows.

His speed picks up and when I look out my mirror, I see the Mercedes back behind us. I scream as Damon swerves into oncoming traffic to pass a sedan that was going too slow. "Oh, my God. You're going to kill us."

"Tell me what's going on," Damon orders.

I cling to the door handles and brace my feet against the floor mat. "Nothing!"

"Clearly." The Mercedes is back on our tail following us closely. Too closely. "You're really going to tell me nothing is going on?"

I ruined the moment we briefly shared in the rain, but so did he. We're back to where we were except neither of us know how to navigate. He may be driving but he has some nerve demanding answers. "I don't know, are you going to take me to a strip club, get me drunk, and film me?"

Damon scowls. By the way, his eyes are narrowed and the way he's gripping the steering wheel, he's pissed. Instead of throwing me a snide remark, he takes his aggression out on the road. He swerves in and out of traffic, making illegal left-hand turns, attempting to get away from the Benz which is still able to follow closely behind. We come to almost a stop behind an eighteen-wheeler carrying lumber. "Damon, don't even think about it."

"Tell me what's going on."

The moment my face sets in a scowl, he swerves back into oncoming traffic and going over a hundred, speeds down the wrong lane. I scream when a car crashes swerving away from us. He's crazy. One minute he's kissing me in the rain and the next he's trying to kill me. "Tell me, Elena."

My lips remain firmly pressed in a line. Damon bares his teeth in a growl and swerves off the street to avoid another car before straightening and going back into the wrong lane of traffic. We're parallel with another truck and the lights of a big rig shine before us. I look at him but he looks crazed and resolute. _Stubborn motherfucker!_ "A drug lord is after me," I finally blurt out.

Damon swerves back into the right lane, we've long lost the black Mercedes. He doesn't say anything, but his knuckles are white and his face is set. We're outside of town, driving past plots of land with cows grazing. Damon shuts off his lights and turns right down a side road and continues to drive. We both glance behind us to make sure we're not being followed. The rain stopped, and the sky has started to clear up. Patches of stars illuminate the vast land around us. "Where are we going?"

He pulls over off a deserted road and inside his jacket pocket, he takes out a flask. I snatch it from his hands before he can take a sip and, unscrewing the top, knock it back. The liquid burns down my throat. Fuck. "Explain," he demands.

"Did you know the entire time that I was telling the truth?" I ask. I need to know before I say anything. He evaded the question earlier but it's still on my mind. "I need the truth. After the party when you were going over the footage, did you see Noah's assault?"

Damon sighs heavily, takes the flask out of my hands and takes a long gulp. "No," he finally says.

His face is cloaked in darkness, but I know Damon. If he knew, he wouldn't have let things go this far. No matter how much he hates me, he wouldn't have let someone get away with sexual assault. "The Gilberts owe Domenico Moretti a debt that I'm supposed to pay. He wants me to sell for him."

Damon curses. "Where's your mom?"

I shrug, taking the flask back. "She's not my mom," I remind him.

Damon turns toward me, his face knit in confusion. "What did she say to you?"

It doesn't matter and I'd rather not explain. "I need to see my d-," I pause and shake my head. "I need to see Grayson."

Damon shakes his head. "You're not seeing your dad."

"You think just because you made me cum that I'm going to let you order me around?"

"Do you really want to see your dad in jail alone?" He counters.

"Do you really think you can stop me?"

"No," he replies. "I _know_ I can stop you."

After everything I put him through years ago, I can't involve him again. The Gilberts have put the Salvatores through enough. No matter what my mom said, Jeremy was still my brother and he wouldn't like me involving Stefan's brother. "You can take me to the Mystic Motel."

Damon stuffs the flask back in his jacket and starts the car. He looks disappointed and I try to not let it get to me. I know what he wanted me to say. I know the destination he wanted me to utter. We had a shared past with shared mistakes but we didn't have a future. I was leaving Mystic Falls and Damon, well… Damon was Damon. He'd probably go to school in New York and then work for his father's company. Too much has happened between us that I don't think either of us will ever overcome. There are feelings there, I won't deny that but one of us would always sabotage it- it's how we function.

I look out the rearview mirror, checking to see if we're being followed but the roads Damon takes are ones only one who grew up here would know. I shiver, my clothes still wet from being outside. Damon cranks up the heat and reaching behind his seat while steering, hands me his leather jacket. "Take off your sweatshirt and put this on," he orders.

I scoff. "No."

"You're freezing and the only way you're going to get warm is if you take off your wet clothes and put this on." I remain unmoved. "You have two choices, Elena. You can do as I say or I can pull this car over and do it myself. I have to admit that I hope you choose to continue to be a stubborn pain in my ass."

I have no doubt Damon would follow through with that threat. "Keep your eyes on the road."

He smirks but keeps his eyes on the road while I take off my sweatshirt and tee and wrap myself in his jacket, zipping it all the way up.

"I never took you for someone who'd own a pink bra."

I punch him in the shoulder. "Asshole!"

He just laughs and continues to drive. I turn my body toward the passenger side window and snuggling into the warmth of his jacket, inhale the warm leather. I let the hum of the car lull me to rest my eyes. By the time I open them again, we're in front of the Salvatore mansion. I straighten up. "Why are we here?"

"You're not staying in some motel."

"I'm not staying with you!"

"A drug lord is after you and you have a cross country meet tomorrow morning. We'll figure out what to do next after your meet."

"There is no 'we' in this situation," I argue, folding my arms. "I'm not leaving this car until you drop me off at the motel."

Damon runs his fingers through his hair and nods like he's decided something. He gets out of the car and walks around it to my side. "No, no, no!" I yell.

He opens the door, leans over and unclips the seatbelt. I try to move to the other side but he grasps me by the waist and tugs me out of the car, flipping me over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. "Damon!" I screech, slapping his back. "Let me down."

He ignores me and like I weigh nothing, holds onto me while grabbing my bag from the back seat. Damon grunts in pain when I hit a blow to his ribcage. Good. He's acting like a caveman. Somehow he recovers, walks me through the front door, down the hall, and to his room. He flips me over and I land with a soft thud on his bed. Ignoring my protests, he strides to his bathroom and runs a bath. "I'm going to make you something to eat. There are fresh towels on the rack and you can borrow any of my clothes if you don't have something in that little bag of yours."

He gives me one last long look, taking in his zipped up leather jacket and my jean shorts, before shutting the door behind him. I look out his window, knowing I can hop out and leave in his car but I think that he wants that. I think that's why he put me in his room because he wanted to give me the option to leave. I could go to a motel and I am tempted to, but I can smell Damon's body wash coming from the steam in his bathroom and I am so tired. I strip out of his jacket and walk to the bathroom to run my fingers under the hot water. When it's high enough, I shut it off and after taking my wet clothes off, get in.

I can't relax under the scalding hot water, even though I try to. I really want to go for a long run because my brain is firing on all cylinders. I can't digest a tenth of the information I took in today. It makes sense really, the fact that Miranda and Grayson Gilbert aren't my parents. Well, Grayson might be but thinking back on my childhood, he wasn't really emotionally present. If we spent time together, I was always the one to bring it up. He gave me gifts, the bracelet and the earrings, but the important things- classroom presentations or birthdays, it was like he always kept me at arm's length. He was so different with Jeremy. Going to his room to give him a hug before bed or taking him to get ice cream every Friday. I always thought it was because Jeremy was younger and so easy to love. Now I know that it's probably because I was never really his.

I hear a light knock on the door. "Are you okay?"

I duck under the water and pop my head back out. "Yeah," I mutter, wiping water from my face.

There's the sound of a body sliding against the door and a thump. "I don't believe you."

Of course, he doesn't.

"Jeremy used to draw you," he says from the floor on the other side of the door. "I'd catch him looking at you while he was sketching and whenever I looked over at his pad, it was always a hairy monster with your eyes and lips."

I chuckle. That sounds about right. Jer hated it when I was on babysitting duty. We fought a lot but he always came to me when he had a problem or was hungry. He was always hungry. "When mo- Miranda and Grayson would fight, he'd sneak in my bedroom. It got so bad that he started keeping his headphones and iPad in my room."

"What was the funeral like?" Damon asks, because I know he's wondered and I know he would've come if he wasn't in rehab.

"We didn't have one," I reply. We never told anyone, though sometimes I pretended we did- even if it just took place in my mind. We lied and said it was a private affair and maybe I lied to myself, but the fact is we never gathered together to memorialize Jer. "Dad or Grayson or whoever he is was arrested shortly after Jer died and Miranda was trying to figure out her next step. He's buried next to Stefan, though."

"You never got to say goodbye?"

"Neither did you, thanks to me," I reply.

It's quiet for a moment and I wonder if Damon's left until I hear the unmistakable sound of a bottle being opened. "Are we always meant to be in pain?"

"Yeah," I mutter, without hesitation or conviction. It seems like that's how things are supposed to be with us. We both suffer. We both hurt. We both are alone- always alone.

I hear him get up. "Dinner's ready when you are," he says before I hear his bedroom door shut.

I meet Damon in the kitchen wearing sleep shorts and a white camisole with a hoodie zipped up the front. He places a kinda burnt grilled cheese on the counter with sliced apples, which makes me smile. It's officially, we haven't matured since the last time we ate dinner together. I take a bite out of the corner of the sandwich and groan. His grilled cheese, scorch marks and all, is better than mine, though I'd never tell him that.

He takes bite out of the other half of the sandwich. "Are you going to give me any details on the person that you were running from tonight?"

I cast him a look. "I already told you about it."

"You said a drug lord wants you to sell for him. I need more details."

I throw the sandwich on the plate and wipe my hands on a napkin before hopping off the barstool to open the fridge door. "You know as much as I want you to know."

I take a Corona out of the fridge and pop the cap off on the edge of the counter, but Damon clasps his hands over mine and takes the drink away from me. "You have a meet tomorrow, you don't want to be hungover or dehydrated, do you?"

I yank it back out of his hands. He's awfully obsessed with this meet. "You didn't care last time I went to a meet hungover."

I didn't do well during that meet and he had to know. He takes it back out of my hands. "I'll make you a deal," he says, bringing the Corona to his lips. "You tell me about the guy that's after you and I'll tell you about what happened after the trial."

What happened after the trial? I haven't looked at my phone since, and I wonder if anyone tried to contact me. Damon takes a glass from one of the oak cabinets and fills it with ice water. He places it before my plate, waiting for me to decide what to do. Curiosity gets the better of me so I sit down and take another bite of the grilled cheese. "My dad and mom sold for Dominico Moretti. My mom borrowed a lot of money from him and then skipped town. A week ago he confronted me and told me that the debt they owed is now mine- oh, and he bought the house I was living in for the next six months. Dom thinks I'm popular and will be able to sell to all my friends. Today was the deadline, which is why he had people watching me and ready to hand over product."

"Dom?" Damon repeats, full of skepticism.

I take another bite of the grilled cheese and shrug. "He's actually pretty nice. We had a somewhat normal conversation this morning."

Damon casts me a weary look and finishes the beer in one gulp. I don't know how he's still standing. "How much do your parents owe?"

"Didn't say- just said that I have to work for him for the next six months and then we're square."

"So he says," Damon mutters.

I nod. "Which is why I left."

Damon leans against the counter and rubs his face with both of his hands. "The Moretti family doesn't forget, Elena."

"I figured that. I'm just trying to buy time and figure out what to do next." Does he think that I don't antagonize over this day in and day out? Even if I left Mystic Falls, the Moretti family's reach is far enough that I know I could never escape them. I need to change the subject. "What happened after the trial?"

Damon shakes his head, his blue eyes pierce me with remorse. "Noah was kicked off the football team."

"Seriously?"

"For a month."

I throw the grilled cheese I was eating back on the plate, suddenly feeling nauseous. They had a total of one game in November that he'd miss because of the holiday. Playoff games were in December and if we were invited to a bowl game, the season should continue into January.

"And this won't go on his record," he finishes.

"How did that happen?"

"Family lawyer deemed the video footage as not reliable proof- they said it had been doctored."

I knew it wasn't. Damon knew it wasn't. "So nothing good came out of all of this."

Damon smirks. "A lot of good came out of this."

"Like what?"

"He was exposed as a liar and everyone knows you've been telling the truth the entire time," he replies.

I'm silent for a moment pondering Damon's side in everything. He had a lot to gain out of this. The Prince of Darkness lost control of his kingdom momentarily and now is back on top. I look at Damon as he eats the grilled cheese sandwich while checking his phone. Chase, Noah, and all the guys have been meeting without him and Damon must know if he has cameras everywhere. Was this his way of reminding them who's on top? They have to know Damon's responsible for the video.

I hop off the barstool and leave the kitchen to find my phone. I need to see what people are saying. My backpack is in Damon's room next to his bed. I open it up and take my phone out of a pocket. The moment I turn it on, it lights up with hundreds of notifications. Some are good, people I don't know congratulating me on winning the case. Thanking me for taking down Noah. However, most are bad.

_Kill yourself._

_ You lying bitch, tell the truth._

_ That video was doctored and you know it. Come clean so we can get our star back._

_ You're not welcome here._

_ Leave town._

_ Do MF a favor and OD like your brother_

_ See you at the Dancing Pony_

_ U like saggy balls_

None of the messages is a surprise, the saggy balls comment threw me until I remembered the accusations that I slept with Giuseppe Salvatore. A shudder runs through me. "You look like you're going to be sick," Damon comments from the doorway.

"Do you know why Luciana said that she'd seen me with your dad?"

Damon shrugs. "She was probably paid off by Noah's family."

"The information was too detailed for her to just make it up."

"Are you saying you slept with my father?" Damon grimaces.

I sigh heavily. He and everyone else knows I'm a virgin, though I guess they don't have to believe me. Actually, it's more likely that no one believes me. Damon could be one of the many. I need to see my dad and get some answers. I look up visiting hours for the state penitentiary. Saturday morning until noon. I look up the bus schedule and see that I'd have to take the one scheduled to leave at five, meaning I wouldn't be able to make my meet. Honestly, I don't care about running or college right now, this is at the forefront of my mind. Damon will never let me leave, so I have to get creative.

I pick up my backpack. "I'm not sleeping in your room."

For about a second, Damon looks offended but quickly recovers. "There are about ten other rooms, go find one then."

I slip under his arm. "Maybe I'll stay in Giuseppe's room. It'll bring back fond memories."

Damon grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. His eyes fall on my lips and then slowly makes it to my eyes. His gaze is angry and heated and it's clear that with one comment, I seriously pissed him off. "Not funny, Elena."

I cock my head to the side. "Says the funny man who's tortured me on several occasions. I don't forgive easily, you should remember that."

I yank my hand free from his grasp and make my way to a downstairs guest room, on the opposite side of the house. I hear Damon's footsteps follow me, but I'm quicker. I dart through the entertainment room and swing a right for the east wing of the mansion. I find the closest guest room, shut the door and lock it. I turn off the lights and wait for Damon to leave. He bangs on the door and insists I open it, but I don't speak. Instead, I turn on the television and blast the latest episode of Real Housewives of wherever knowing he'd leave quicker the longer I watched- even though I wasn't watching.

I change into a pair of jeans and a tee and throw a black sweatshirt over my top. I pull up the hoodie and climb through the window before Damon figures out what I'm up to. With my backpack slung over my shoulders, I sprint across the front lawn of the Salvatore mansion and keep running until I'm a safe distance away. It's late at night and I figure I can sleep on the bus. I have about twenty minutes before Damon realizes I ditched him.

When I'm far enough away, I pull up the Uber app and request a ride. Since the Salvatore mansion is so far out of town, it takes a while for my ride to arrive. The lights of the mansion are a block away but I keep my eyes peeled for Damon's car. My stomach does a nervous flip flop. He's been nice and he's trying and I'm being my usual stubborn self. I can defend my actions, he hasn't exactly been forthcoming with information, but he was more open tonight and now I'm blowing it. I just know he would try to prevent me from seeing my dad or he'd want to go with me and I don't want to deal with that right now.

Uber arrives and takes me to a bus station forty-five minutes away and from there I buy a ticket to Huntsville, a small town next to the penitentiary where I'll have to transfer to another bus to the prison. Even though I'm sitting and waiting for the bus to arrive, I scan the crowd of passengers. A man in a fedora looks suspicious but so does the middle-aged man in a baseball cap. I know I'm being paranoid, there's no way Moretti tracked me from the road to Damon's to this bus station, especially since I didn't see anyone following me from the Uber. But the tingling sensation that creeps up my spine doesn't go away until I decide to unlock my phone and scroll through social media. Even though I don't have a real account, I still have the one I used to get information from the trial.

The moment I turn on my phone, notification after notification piles in and most are from Damon. I click to listen to the voicemail before looking at the twenty-seven text messages he sent. "Elena? Open the fucking door," he heaves a sigh, and I hear him knocking. "I will kick down this door. Pick up your phone." Damon bangs on the door more and then I hear the unmistakable sound of splintering wood. The television I left one sounds louder as I assume Damon walks further in the room. He curses and the phone drops.

_ Where are you?_

_ I can't believe you left._

_ Get. Back. Here._

_ Are you serious? Someone is after you._

_ You have a meet tomorrow morning._

_ Do you have any regard for your own life?_

_ When I find you, you won't be leaving again without armed security._

His text messages are a flurry of threats of what will happen if I don't return right away, cementing the fact that I'll never go back. He's determined to find me, but he won't look for me here. At least, I don't think he will. I scan the waiting area again but don't see anyone suspicious or anyone that looks like Damon, although Damon wouldn't hide- he'd have no problem flipping me over his shoulder and carrying me out. The man in the Yankees cap looks my direction but I think that's just because I've been glaring at everyone for the past forty-five minutes.

The call for the bus blares over the loudspeakers, so I line up with everyone else and find a spot towards the back of the bus. I put on my earbuds on and sit back, listening to Houses, _A Quiet Darkness_. The adrenaline from leaving continues to pump through me. The sensible part of me should go back and stay with Damon. I should wake up and go to my meet and pretend that the last twenty-four hours didn't happen- but I can't. Grayson Gilbert has answers to questions I've been asking myself on repeat since Miranda talked to me. Running a stupid meet? Working on college application essays? Planning a future? So fucking stupid to think about or even consider. This is all some sort of cosmic punishment for the past five years.

I wake with a start when the bus driver announces the arrival to Huntsville. I wait for everyone to depart the bus before I get up but when I do, the guy in the baseball cap follows me. He must've been sitting directly behind me. I try to act casual as I walk off the bus and in the opposite direction I intend to go. I spin around and check my surroundings, but I don't see him among the rows of busses arriving and departing the station.

_No one is following me. _

_ No one is following me._

_ There's no way Moretti knows where I am._

_ We lost him._

_ Damon and I lost him in the Camaro. _

These thoughts bounce around in my head, a rationalization that what I'm doing is right. I need to talk to the man that called me daughter and nothing is going to get in the way of that, not even my own paranoia.

Huntsville is small, so Uber doesn't work here. The prison isn't far, and I'm a little early for visitation, so I decide to walk. With my backpack over my shoulders, I walk along the highway to see the one person I've tried to avoid since my brother died to get answers that I don't know if I want to hear. The sun rises over the horizon streaking the sky with brilliant pinks and purples. Today, I have decided, is going to royally suck.


	15. Chapter 15

Dear Readers-

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I love all the kind reviews, and I have to tell you, it's incredibly motivating to a writer. I hope you enjoy this lively chapter. Best- J

Chapter 15

Orange Is the New Black got it wrong. The reception area is like any reception area in a doctor's office and the receptionist appears to be a kind lady that sits behind a glass partition. Sure, I had to go through a lot of security and had my items searched, but I didn't expect this at the other end. "I'm here to see an inmate, Grayson Gilbert," I say into the speaker, placing my i.d. in a metal drawer. "He's my dad."

Maybe.

Maybe, he's my dad.

She opens the drawer from her side and looks at the i.d. and then at me and then back at the i.d.. She types information into the computer, pauses, looks up at me, and stands up. "I need to check on something with my advisor."

I awkwardly stand and wait, trying to think of what to say to my dad. _Hi, dad! Long time no see..._ seems like an inappropriate greeting. I've refused to see him for so long, I wonder if he'd refuse to see me. I don't know what to do if that's the case. Am I allowed to demand to see my dad? Maybe I should threaten a lawsuit- that's what they do on television shows.

The receptionist returns with a man with grey in his beard and a bit of a belly wearing a cheap brown suit. "This is Warden Jones, he'd like to see you in his office."

I'm guided around the corner of the reception area through a door, down a hallway into an office. I'm seated at a leather chair while the warden sits opposite me. "Ms. Gilbert, we've been trying to reach your mother but she hasn't returned our calls or responded to the many letters we've sent." He opens up a brown file folder and hands me a document. "There's no easy way to say this, but your father died."

I look at the document and then back at him and then back at the document. _Grason Gilbert_. "This isn't my dad," I say. "His name is spelled G-R-A-Y-S-O-N." I hand the document back to him and fold my arms. "You made a mistake."

He rubs his forehead with his hand and sighs, but he doesn't get it. He made a mistake; he should be apologizing for freaking me out and tell me where the fuck my father is. "This is a clerical error, not…" he pauses and regards me with a hardened expression. "I assure you, your father passed away," he states callously. "There was a prison riot and your dad was stabbed several times by a piece of broken glass."

"I…I don't understand," I place my shaking hands on my knees to settle them. "How could this happen? I know he's in prison but shouldn't he be protected from this sort of thing?"

"Prison riots happen. Inmates pick fights with each other or try to show dominance. It happened a month ago, during breakfast in the dining hall."

My dad's favorite meal was always breakfast. Pancakes with syrup and bacon. Lots of bacon. The thought causes hysterical laughter to bubble up from my throat, but I slap my hand over my mouth to prevent it from escaping. He's dead. He's been dead for months and I didn't know. Aren't I supposed to have a gut feeling when I lose someone? Like I sense the loss? This is crazy, there's no way he's dead. He can't be.

"Where is his body? Where are his things? He's not dead." I slam both hands on the table, stand up, and look at the warden's pudgy little face. "He isn't fucking dead!"

I want to throw something, I want to punch him in his pug nose, but he remains seated, unaffected by my comment; he's probably used to worse. "He left instructions with his lawyer. He was buried in your family's plot at the Mystic Falls Cemetery. When we couldn't get a hold of your mother, all his items were given to his lawyer."

I sit back down. "They were given to Mark Fell?"

Mark was Dad's lawyer during the trial; he was a family friend until he lost the case. Miranda had some choice words to say about him and his ego, but he was always nice to me. The warden looks in the manila folder and hands me a card. "Diego Romano," he says. "He's been your dad's lawyer for the past year. He'll have more information."

My dad's been buried at the family plot for the last month and I didn't know. How could this happen? How could my mom…Miranda not tell me? Unless she didn't know. No, she knew. She encouraged me to visit my dad, this is how she'd want her non-daughter to find out. I don't even know if he's my dad. This is all so messed up. I look at the card again. Diego is located in Falls City. Another bus ride, taking me further and further away from what normal teenagers worry about.

"Look, Ms. Gilbert," the warden says. "Your dad was an ideal inmate in the beginning. He was respectful and worked as a doctor in the clinic. I knew him better than most inmates and I know he loved you. Even though he was heartbroken over your brother's death, he served his time with respect. It wasn't until a year ago that things started turning south for him. He lost his job in the clinic and started hanging around some of the more severe inmates. He wrote to you often, but either never sent the letters, or didn't send all of them. About a hundred of them are with his lawyer. Meet with Diego Romano and get some closure."

I eye the mug on his desk. "This is a mug, not a mugshot," it says. So fucking stupid. His wife probably gave it to him or one of his kids for Father's Day. Only stupid mugs like this are given as gifts from family. I stand up, place my hands on the edge of the desk and look him square in the eye. "My dad is dead because of you. You should've been watching. You should've known. This man you praised for his work when he was first incarcerated is the same man you abandoned because he made a mistake. You weren't paying attention," I wrap my hand around the handle of his stupid mug. "If you were doing your job, he'd still be alive to hand me those letters." I toss the mug across the room. It shatters against the wall as I walk out of his office. He won't do anything to me because he knows I'm right. I should sue. Maybe I will after I see Diego.

With the hood of my sweatshirt up, I walk out of the prison and to the bus station. A bus ride to Falls City will take a few hours considering Huntsville is in the opposite direction. Before I buy my ticket, I call Diego Romano's office. After the third ring, a woman answers the phone. She has a thick accent that I can't quite distinguish. "Hello, Diego Romano isn't taking client appointments this weekend. If you'll give me your name and number, we can set up an appointment for the following week."

I sigh into the phone. "My name is Elena Gilbert. I'd like to talk to Mr. Romano about a client of his, Grayson Gilbert. I'm his daughter."

"Oh, Elena Gilbert?" She asks. "Mr. Romano can see you today."

It's a relief but I am startled by her change of heart. "I can be there by six."

"Great," she remarks and gives me directions on how to get there. Even though I plan on Ubering from the station to the office, I politely listen. After our phone call, I buy a ticket for Falls City. I ignore the messages from Damon and from my coach and board a bus for the city. I missed a cross country meet. I never miss a meet. I can miss one. I'm sure my coach will understand once I explain that I couldn't make it. I take a sip of the coffee I bought at the station. It's bitter but helps wake me up as I stare out the window. It doesn't matter anyway. The cross country meet won't make any difference to my future. Sure, the coach mentioned the Olympics, but he was just being nice- trying to motivate me by dangling the carrot in front of my face. This…this is so much bigger. I hope he understands but if he doesn't, I'll take it as a sign that I need to focus elsewhere. Valedictorian… cross country champion… none of it matters when you don't have money or connections. I'm not the subject of an after school special- I need to remind myself that.

Damon

She always drove me insane so why should it be any different at eighteen? When we were kids, we'd bike everywhere together. She'd wear these jean overall shorts with a tee underneath. I used to tug her by the straps. "Come on, Elena, I want ice cream," I'd say, dragging her by the strap of her overalls. We'd hop on our bikes, go to Misties to eat our weight in cookie dough ice cream. As we got older, she'd go wherever she wanted and I'd follow.

Damon Salvatore: King of Mystic Falls- you'd think I was leading all of our adventures, but nope, I followed her like some love-sick puppy and she had no clue. No fucking clue I loved her. She'd piss me off and our arguments would get so loud, Jeremy and Stefan would leave whoever's house we were playing at. They'd play ball in the backyard or walk to the park while Elena and I would yell at each other over a science fair project we were working on. I'd tell her my dad could just pay for someone to do it for us and she'd yell and lecture. She'd do this thing where she sucks on her lower lip and then flips it out when she's ready to blow. Like the little lawyer she was, she'd wait for me to say something incriminating and then go full tilt. One hand on the hip while the other waved around as she yelled. Fuck, how could she not know I loved her.

Then things went south because I couldn't look at her without thinking about Stefan. The number of nights I spent in rehab thinking about how I wished I'd grown the fuck up and stopped hanging out with someone who annoyed me more than anyone else I'd ever met. If she just stopped hanging around the house in her little overalls, I would've been watching Stefan like I was supposed to, not looking forward to seeing her. I should've been hanging out with other high school students, not someone who still watched the Disney channel.

I came back from rehab and there she was. After everything that happened to her family, she still went to school, she still ran and acted as though nothing happened and I still couldn't keep my eyes off of her, except she was a walking living reminder that Stefan was dead because of me and I hated her for it. She wasn't allowed to have friends and she wasn't allowed to be happy while I was dying inside. Not when she told the cops that Jeremy got the pills from me. Not when I was sent to rehab for it. I didn't get to say goodbye because of her. She's the singular reason my life was in shambles, and I wasn't going to let her forget it.

I drank. I threw parties. I made money off of my parties. I gambled and won. I hung out with strippers and celebrities. One of the strippers has a successful reality show thanks to me. I was fine. I was more than fine. I was the King of the school and no one could touch me, except for her. She'd walk around school like she owned the place but had no clue she was queen. You see, the secret to owning any social situation is not giving a flying fuck what anyone thinks, and Elena with her bike and her Chucks and her jean shorts could care less what anyone thought of her and I couldn't help myself. Any opportunity to torture her, to get a rise out of her and I took it. Mess with her locker? Sure. Start rumors? Yup. Make all my friends go to the diner she waitressed at and give her hell and then not tip her? Every weekend, until she got sent to the back to do dishes.

Then she started fighting back. When she fought back, she showed vulnerability and I remembered the girl in overalls. I remembered the time her uncle taught us how to hot-wire a car. I remembered the time we went camping and got into a fight over who could start the fire first. I remember the way she looked when they told her that her bother was dead. All the memories came flooding back and I hated her for it, but I also couldn't get enough of her. That asshole Rafe doesn't know her. I saw the way he was looking at her and I knew those weren't of the pure variety. He's the worst kind of human being because he hides his darkness under the guise of being the good guy.

Then after the trial, I had her. I had her stubborn ass in my home again as mine and she left. That little shit. I kissed her and sounded like a damn fool out on that street underneath the rain and now she's gone. She won't answer her fucking phone and she missed her cross country meet; one I needed her to attend. She's fading and I can feel it because she won't let herself acknowledge the pain she's in. There was a moment, as I was leaning against the bathroom door when I felt like I finally got through to her and then she left. I haven't been successful yet, but I will find her and hopefully before anyone else does.

Elena

I look up at the building and then back at the card the warden gave me. It's a skyscraper, one of the fancy new ones built so Falls City could pretend it was in league with New York City. I went to Falls City on a class field trip when I was in the fifth grade. We went to the planetarium and when Max Hayes tried to sit next to me during a presentation of the solar system and hold my hand, Damon sucker-punched him and told him to move so he could sit next to me. Damon and I didn't hold hands, but Damon snuck in his iPod so we could listen to The Beatles. He took the left earbud and I took the right and we watched the stars and the galaxies swirl around while listening to John, Paul, George, and Ringo sing about strawberry fields.

I walk upstairs and past a geometric fountain surrounded by pink and purple flowers, and into the building. It's late on a Saturday afternoon, so the building is pretty empty. Carrying my backpack, I walk up to security and hand over my identification to a guard. He looks at a list and after seeing my name, sends me to the elevators instructing me to go to the eightieth floor of the building. My footsteps echo through the empty lobby as I make my way to the elevator. I look at the directory posted next to the car doors, curious as to who else is in this building. It's mainly law offices and ad agencies, but there isn't a name next to the eightieth floor. Maybe Romano's a more exclusive lawyer. I'm surprised my dad had a lawyer in this fancy building, I thought I'd be on the other side of town where I'd see Romano's face on bus benches.

I walk into the car and press the button for the eightieth floor, but notice something- the floors go up to eighty-five, even though those floors weren't listed on the directory. As I ascend, I don't pick up another lawyer or a business person going up, instead, the elevator takes me directly to the eightieth floor. Something doesn't feel right. Yes, it's a weekend, but a secretary answered the phone when I called so there has to be more than one office open on the weekend.

Once the elevator car doors open, I walk into an empty lobby. I spin around, trying to see if anyone is working late on a Saturday, but the office is empty. No one is behind the reception desk. No one greets me. I keep walking, past offices with sleek minimalist furniture. I should leave and make an appointment for Monday. I can miss school. It's not like the school has anyone to call if I'm not there.

I pace through the floor, looking for an open office or an office that has Romano's name on it but I don't find anything. No names outside of doors. No personalized photos in cubicles. Nothing. Just nice furniture. It's like walking into a model home but the office equivalent of that. Why would the security guard guide me up to an empty floor?

I start trying the handle of closed office doors, but they don't budge. My gut tells me that the one with double doors and brass handles is one of the partner's offices. Maybe I can just take the information about my father instead of having to go through someone. I drop my backpack and dig through it until I find what I'm looking for, the lock picking kit Uncle John got me when I turned seven. On my knees, I start working the lock until I hear the familiar click. A sigh escapes my lips as the door opens.

"Can't say I'm surprised," says a familiar voice from behind me. "I should hire you. Oh, wait, I already did."

I close my eyes and consider my options. I could make a run for it, but he probably wanted to trap me on this floor. I could run into the empty office I just broke into and lock him out, but my guess is that he could easily pay someone to wait me out. I decide to go with option three. I casually place my tools back in the backpack, stand up and turn around. "Hello, Dom."

"You weren't at the house, I was worried," he says calmly. "Then you ran off my men," he tsks, taking a step closer. "I don't want to jump to conclusions because the conclusions I'd jump to wouldn't be good for you."

I take him in. He stands tall in an expensive deep blue suit that was tailor-made just for him. He's good looking and confident and used to getting what he wants. I cannot appear weak in front of him because he doesn't respect weakness, he takes advantage of it. "I'm guessing it's not a coincidence that my dad's new lawyer is your lawyer."

"You're eighteen, yes?"

Oh, hell.

"You already know the answer to that question or you wouldn't be asking it. You probably know my blood type and ovulation cycle."

He takes one more step toward me. "O negative and you had your period a couple of weeks ago, so you're currently ovulating."

My jaw drops.

"You haven't been broken in yet, either," he adds.

"Broken in? Like a horse?"

"Prized thoroughbred, yes."

"So you know I'm a virgin and when I last purchased tampons. Is this your way of impressing me, because I already know my blood type and everyone knows I'm a virgin after the trial yesterday," I comment, refusing to give in to the temptation to move away from him. He smells good- too fucking good. "You also know I'm not related to Miranda or Grayson Gilbert, so I'm not indebted to you. If you want your money, I suggest you follow the smell of vanilla sugar body spray to the nearest truck stop."

"You're mother is of no use to me."

"She's not my mother."

"She raised you."

"I raised myself," I retort. "I sure as hell don't owe you anything."

I feel the cold metal of a gun barrel pointed at my head. I suck in a breath, inhaling the rich cologne Dom is wearing. He leans forward and I feel his hot breath on my ear. "I've been watching you, Ms. Gilbert," he whispers. "I know that this gun doesn't scare you, but I want it to remind you that I can get to you and anyone you care about."

I scoff. He's right, I don't care about the gun. "I don't care about anyone."

His lips find the base of my neck and he lays a kiss there. My breathing gets heavy and shallow. God, this shouldn't feel so good. Not from him. "You care, Ms. Gilbert. It's your greatest weakness and your greatest strength."

He inhales and with one hand sweeps my hair to the side, sending tingles down my spine. "You care about the boy."

Boy? Damon? No. No. Nope. This is what I wanted to avoid. Damon cannot get involved. He's suffered enough because of me. Even with the gun at my temple, I twist my head to the side so I can meet Dom's eyes. There's something like a proud glint there. "I don't care about anyone," I repeat. "You want me to sell for you? I need to see my dad's lawyer, Diego Romano, who I'm guessing is on your payroll. We make a fair exchange, I'll sell your drugs."

He steps back and holsters his gun. "Follow me."

I follow him back to the elevator. "We're going to the eighty-fifth floor, aren't we?"

Dom's lips twitch as he slides a key card, and presses a button. "I knew I liked you."

I try to stand as far away from Dom as possible but he pulls me to him by my elbow. "We use this building for business meetings," he says conversationally. "Makes the business look official."

"So these aren't Diego's offices?"

"He goes where I need him," Dom replies.

"Must be nice," I mutter.

"I would've lent him to you for your trial, but I was curious as to how you'd fare on your own."

"I don't know if you heard, but I won and lost," I state. "I don't think a fancy lawyer would've helped, but I appreciate the thought."

"Offer stands," he mutters.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. This office, similar to the floor below but much busier. Dom guides me by the elbow past the receptionist, who's talking to baseball cap guy. He winks at me as Dom and I walk past. I should've known. He must've been tailing me for Dom and saw me go to the prison. I stick out my tongue. "Be nice," Dom admonishes. "He was only doing his job."

"Why didn't you have him grab me at the bus station?"

"I was more interested in where you were going," he explains. "Besides, there are decent ways to do things. Kidnapping is occasionally necessary, but at that moment, it wasn't."

"Thanks for that."

Dom drags me through the offices into a large office and closes the door. The office is palatial with a vast floor plan and high tech, clean-cut furniture. An entire wall is full of flat screens that in sync, create a screensaver image of the galaxy. Dom guides me to a chair across from a desk with a single laptop on it and sits across from me. He presses a button and from the side, the door emerges a man carrying a folder. "Elena Gilbert, I'd like you to meet Diego Romero, your father's lawyer."

I don't stand to shake his hand, primarily because this is all very weird. Like Dom, Romano is equally good looking with olive skin and dark eyes, but Romano doesn't have Dom's presence. It's clear seeing the two of them interact that Dom is the one who makes decisions and Romano follows, possibly begrudgingly. "Are you guys related or something?"

Dom looks at Romano and smirks. "See?" he murmurs. "Smart."

Romano gives me a slow once over. "She's not a user, that's good."

"A hustler too," Dom adds. "I've seen her at the Dancing Pony and working at Patty's as a dishwasher. She's not afraid of hard work."

"Grayson told me she can hot-wire cars and pick locks," he adds.

"Fearless too," Dom continues, glancing over at me like I'm nothing more than a picture on the wall he's discussing. "I've been watching the footage. She doesn't back down, this one."

"She's also sitting right here and getting annoyed," I finally say.

They both regard me wearing similar smirks. Dom motions for Romano to sit in the chair next to mine. He lays the file folder across from me. "This contains information about your father, including a letter to you."

I make to grab the folder, but he slides the folder away from me.

"What makes you think I believe you?" I ask. "There could be anything in that folder and none of it having to do with the man claiming to be my father."

Romano glances at Dom who nods. Romano opens the folder and hands me my father's death certificate.

Grayson Edison Gilbert.

Born in Mystic Falls, Virginia.

Multiple stab wounds to the chest.

I blink back the tears as I stare at his name and place of death. A prison. He must've felt so alone. The man who used to take me camping and fed me soup when I had the flu died completely alone, not knowing that I loved him. I place the death certificate on the table, knowing I'm being carefully watched for my reaction. I shrug my shoulders. "This doesn't give me the information I was promised."

"At eight o'clock tomorrow night, at Patty's Diner, a package will be delivered to you. You take care of the package, I'll give you your father's letter," Dom instructs. "You have twenty-four hours to take care of it."

I shift uncomfortably in my chair. I cast a glance at Dom's drink cart. I'd give anything for one of Damon's coffees right now. "I don't know anything about drugs. How am I supposed to sell for you when I don't know the product? Pricing?"

"Instructions will be with the package," he replies.

"And if I don't sell for you? If I don't care about a letter my supposed father left me from prison?"

"We kill the boy," Romano states.

Anger flushes my cheeks. I turn towards him and look him directly in his stupid and pompous black eyes. "I don't trust you and I don't want to hear from you. If I have to do this, I deal with Dom. My father got killed under your watch, so I don't trust you. You threaten "the boy" again, you touch a hair on his head, I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever do because something that Dom knows that you don't seem to understand is I don't give a fuck about my own life, which means I'll gladly drag you to the grave with me."

Romano flinches but remains unbothered, choosing to look at Dom with a chuckle. "You're right. She's perfect for the next phase."

I stand up. "If you're going to continue to talk about me like I'm not here, I might as well not be here."

"Sit down," Dom orders, his voice loud and harsh. "I'm not done with you yet."

I sit and cross my legs, knowing I wouldn't get to the elevator without being dragged back into this office. "What would you like, master?" I mock silkily.

Dom gazes at me heatedly, tugs at his tie, a pink flush rushes up to his neck. "We have eyes on you," he remarks pointedly. "You'll stay at your house and continue as normal. Go to your shift tomorrow night as if nothing has happened, and take care of the package. You do this successfully, you'll be rewarded."

"I want more than my father's letter- I want the entire file. I don't need cash, I want information," I state. "You have resources I don't and suddenly, my past is a mystery."

"Done."

I stand, as does Romano and Dom, but I shake Dom's hand instead of Romano's. There's something about him that doesn't sit right. "I'll have a car take you home."

"I prefer the bus."

"I wasn't giving you the option."

I roll my eyes as I'm guided out the door. "Are you taking me home, Dom?"

He places a gentle hand on my neck, guiding me through the office. I feel the heat of his breath on my cheek as he whispers in my ear. "I'd love nothing more than to drive you home, but I have dinner plans with the governor and his wife. One day, you'll accompany me because you are far more entertaining than a gold digger and career politician."

"The sacrifices we make for work," I whisper back. I feel his smirk as he guides me to the elevator.

Baseball cap guy joins us, dangling keys in his hand. "Jasper will take you home."

"I'm taking the bus."

"Jasper," Dom says. "Take her directly home, and don't listen to a word she says."

"Got it, boss."

I raise my eyebrows at Dom. He may have been watching, but he doesn't know who he's messing with. With my backpack over my shoulders, I smirk at Dom and glare at Romano as the elevator doors close.

"You weren't really good at following me," I tell Jasper. "Otherwise I would've seen you along the road when I was walking to the state penitentiary."

He calmly keeps his hands crossed, not regarding me.

"That must be why you're the one Dom chose to give me a ride home. You've been reduced to an Uber driver, that can't feel good," I add casually.

He shifts slightly.

"How long have you been watching me?"

He grunts in irritation.

"That long?"

He moves the keys from one hand to the other.

"What were you ordered to do when Chase Worthington forced me into his car? Or when Noah Scott cornered me at a party?"

This time he looks. He's younger, not much older than me, and cute in that pretty boy way, with hazel eyes and curly blond hair that peeks from his cap. He looks apologetic. "I didn't…"

I take a step toward him and place my hands over his. "It's fine," I reply. "You didn't know. That's my point, you probably shouldn't be doing this for a living," I look into his eyes. So innocent for what I'm about to do. "My family trapped me in this life. Anyone who has a choice should leave and go to college. I'm jealous of anyone who has a choice. I'd give anything to leave here and live in a dorm," I laugh lightly, my voice sing-song and very much unlike my own. "Even being forced to eat ramen and drink cheap beer sounds like a fantasy."

"I had a soccer scholarship," he mutters. "I was supposed to join a fraternity."

"As a legacy?"

He nods.

"What school?"

"Whitmore," he replies glancing at me with sad eyes. "I didn't think my life would go this way."

I feel bad as I grasp the keys he was once holding and press the button on the panel for the next floor, just as we hit that floor the car doors promptly open. "I'm sorry about this," I say, as I dart out the doors and run for the stairs. I hear him curse as I sprint down the stairwell. He really is bad at watching me. Dom should know. I take the stairs and fly down to the garage. I click the unlock button on the remote of the car keys I took from baseball cap guy and finally hear a beep coming from a black Land Rover. I hop in, turn the ignition, and peel out of the garage. I'm sure there's a GPS inside the vehicle, so I ditch it at a Costco parking lot and hitch a ride with a family of five back to Mystic Falls.

Because I promised I'd find God, the Smith family drop me off at their church parking lot just outside of Mystic Falls. Once they leave, I clutch my backpack strap and call an Uber to take me back to my house. I don't go to Damon's, primarily because I know he'd flip out. The moment my driver takes me to the house I thought I'd never have to sleep in again, I take out a key I never thought I'd use again and start the path toward the house. I hear rustling from the bushes, but assume that my paranoia is to blame. I mean, after the day I've had, I don't think anyone can blame me. I place the key into the lock when a bag is placed over my head obscuring my vision. Large arms wrap around my body and carry me away. I scream and I kick anything I can, but the bag is laced with something and after a few minutes of screaming and kicking, I feel myself losing consciousness and all goes black.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Wake her up," a voice orders.

"We're not ready yet," another, more forceful, replies. "We have to wait until Twenty-Four gets back."

"Why? We can start without him." Sounds of footsteps draw near but scuffle backward in forced retreat.

"We have a plan and if we stray from it, we'll get caught and go to jail."

"We're in a remote cabin, miles outside of town," he argues. "By the time we get done with her, there's no way we'll get caught."

I try to keep my breaths even and even though I can't see anything out of the blindfold they put over my eyes, I can distinguish voices. One is Chase Worthington, I'm sure of it. Twenty-four must be Noah because I don't recognize the other voice in the room- the one that wants to get started right now, whatever that means.

My hands are stretched above me and a weight on the wrists tell me I'm tied to the bed I'm lying on. I won't know about my legs until I can move them, but I don't think they're tied. They need to think I'm still out so they'll keep talking.

Oh, hell. My nose itches.

"Listen, Zero, you dipshit sophomore," Chase says. "The only reason you're tagging along is because of your dad. If you don't get in line, I'll send you home."

A grunt and footsteps retreat out of the room. I jolt when the door slams; I know by the footsteps drawing nearer that Chase figured me out. "How much did you hear?"

"Why's Zero's dad so special?"

Chase curses but moves closer.

"Do you need anything to drink?" He asks, surprising me with the offer.

I have to play this smart, so I cannot allow myself to panic or act rashly, even if I want to call Chase every name I can think of. "That would be nice, thank you."

He moves to sit on the bed and places a straw between my lips and I greedily drink its contents. Chase cleans dribbles of water from my lips with the pad of his thumb and takes the moment to caress my cheek with the back of his knuckle. "I'm sorry for what's about to happen."

His tone is ominous and resigned. This is going to happen whether he likes it or not, so I need to let him think he has some control over the situation. I keep all fear out of my voice. "What's about to happen?"

"You know Damon was behind most of it," he adds conversationally. "I always told him to leave you alone but it's like he opened a door and everyone thought they had a right."

I'm about to say something but he presses an index finger to my lips, quieting me. "People blame your family but I don't blame you."

"Then get me out of here," I say, trying to wriggle out of my restraints. "I promise I won't say anything."

"It's too late," he replies sadly, easily moving my hands away so I can't break free. "I really liked you, you know. You're funny and nice and I think we could've made a good couple. I would've been loyal to you. I would've protected you."

I find that hard to believe considering he's the one that gave Noah the Rohypnol the night of Damon's party and has been the organizer of some of the bullying but both Chase and Noah have proven to be delusional assholes.

"You can protect me now," I plead. "Let's get out of here and go somewhere quiet to talk."

His hand grazes down my arm. "Too late."

He gets up and I hear him leave. I lay still and listen for anyone else in the room, and then move my legs. They didn't tie them but I'm barefoot and it's not like I'm going to make it far, in the middle of the woods, in late fall. My only hope is that I can get to Chase and the only thing these guys are going to respond is weakness.

It's not hard to conjure tears but I add hysterical hiccups. As expected, Chase comes in, which means they're watching me. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG?

But I can't say that. I have to be weak and vulnerable. I need to think small. Small things he'll give me. I need someone on my side while in this cabin.

"I'm so scared and hungry," I mutter through the tears streaming through the eye mask.

I feel him sit next to me on the bed. "I can make you something," he says, brushing away hair caught in my mouth. "What do you want?"

"Anything," I reply softly. "Thank you so much."

He leaves and returns minutes later. I feel him sit beside me on the bed. He leans over and tugs the mask away from my eyes. Chase is dressed in a black hoodie and jeans and he's wearing a white skull mask. He places the plate of food on the bedside table and shifts me up so he can feed me without me choking. I smile gratefully at him. "Nice mask."

I hear him grunt as he places a peanut butter sandwich at my lips. I open my mouth and take a bite. He sits, watching, while I chew. I can't let him know I know who he is. I think back to what I know about Chase. I know his dad puts a lot of pressure on him and his mom is gone a lot so he's left taking care of his little sister.

"Thank you for taking care of me," I mutter, tears easily fall down my cheeks. Honestly, I should be an actress. "My brother, Jeremy used to make me peanut butter sandwiches, except he'd cut the crusts off."

Lies. All lies. Jeremy was deathly allergic to peanut butter.

"I'm sorry he died," Chase replies.

I offer an understanding smile. "Younger siblings are always annoying but it doesn't mean we don't care about them."

"It's not going to work," he mutters sadly.

"What?" I offer, tears still streaming down my face.

"You're still fighting," he replies hoarsely, wiping a stray tear from my cheek and inspecting it like he's never seen something so fascinating before. He shrugs casually. "This is going to happen."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"This act you're trying to put on," he mutters, disappointed. "You think you can manipulate me but you can't."

Yes, I can.

I think about my day. I think about the woman who raised me. I think about my dad who's currently lying next to Jer.

"You think this is an act?" I cry. "I have no one. Do you realize that? I have been fighting and fighting since the moment my dad went to prison. I can't sleep. I can't concentrate on anything but getting the fuck out of this town but with my luck, I'll end up at the Dancing Pony. Do you think I'm faking this? You have me locked in a cabin in God knows where and I am tired, whoever the fuck you are, I am freaking exhausted. So do you worst! Just knock me out again so I can sleep. Just do it!"

I cry and cry and cry until Chase gets so uncomfortable, he moves to leave. He comes back moments later with a Styrofoam cup. "My mom used to make me hot chocolate when I was upset. It always made me feel better," he explains, tilting the contents so I can take a sip.

I lick my lips. It's warm, not too hot and is surprisingly soothing to drink. I recognize the hot chocolate as the kind from a packet. I can see the little marshmallows floating at the top. "Why the mask?" I ask as he pours another sip down my lips.

"Why do you think?" He asks, leaning over to check the restraints. He tugs at them, to make sure they're secure. Then he pours another sip down my throat, a big one that almost makes me cough. I need to make a move, I need to do something to get me out of here. Maybe if I can scare him. If he thinks he'll get caught and go to jail, I might help me. If he got me out of here, I wouldn't tell a soul. After my experience with the police lately, I'd rather not go to them. Not to mention, I'll be receiving a package of drugs to sell when I get back to work.

"I can identify your voice, Chase," I remark. "I've known you since fourth grade."

A growl emits from his throat as he places his large hand around my jaw, tilts my mouth open, and pours the remaining contents down my throat. I choke, and the liquid splutters from my mouth, but he holds my jaw closed forcing the contents down my throat. My eyes water under his hold and hot chocolate dribbles out of the corners of my mouth. He wipes the corners of my mouth with his fingers and leans over, the cold plastic from the mask grazing my cheek. "Your trial made the front page. National news picked it up. Noah lost his scholarships and schools withdrew their acceptance. Because I was in that video, my scholarships and acceptances have been withdrawn," he leans closer, venom in his voice. "You're going to start feeling really good soon, and the moment your tight little body writhes with neediness, I'll undo the restraints and we'll have fun, so much fun this mask will come off. Because you know what, Easy Elena? You owe me some fun after what I went through."

Heat flushes my entire body. I try to kick and fight back, but my attempts are futile. "What did you give me, Chase?"

He chuckles, gets up from the bed and walks to the door. "What did you give me?" I shout, a scream so loud I can feel it from my sternum.

I pull on the restraints. I scan the room looking for a way out, but it's just cream walls and a photo of a deer in the woods. There's something odd about the picture like it doesn't belong. The shadow of rectangular stains the outside of the frame, like the picture of that dumb deer, replaced another picture.

A hysterical laugh bubbles from me. I was that fucking deer in the woods, just trying to live my life, prancing among the trees, just looking for a sip of water and then bam, I'm fucking dead. People watching me go about my day, innocent as can be, shoot me between the eyes, my corpse being dragged through the mud by my predators.

I wonder what if would feel like to be dragged through the mud. I bet it'd feel cool on my skin. I bite my lip. Dragged naked through the mud, held captive only to be devoured. Chained and made only for pleasure.

Whispers echo in the distance. Somewhere close yet far away from my forest. My mud. My flowers. The warm mist of the forest envelopes me.

"She's ready."

"Should we take off her restraints?"

"Not till twenty-four says it's okay."

"Look at her, she's writhing. She's practically humping the bed. She's asking for it."

"Not yet. It hasn't been long enough."

"How much did you give her?"

"Enough to make her relax and willing."

The voices fade away, licking my skin as they depart. God, it's hot. I whimper, wanting something I can't reach.

"It's going to be okay," a sultry voice says.I like that voice, I want to crawl inside that voice. "We're going to take such good care of you."

A hand licks my side. "I'm hot," I moan. "Help me."

A chuckle, a friendly chuckle. This is my friend. He's going to help me. "We'll take care of that soon enough."

"I need mud to cool me down," I remark. "And pink flowers and purple water."

His knuckle drags over my body like an ice cube trailing down my frame. "Do you want me to cool you down?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," I repeat over and over like a prayer.

"Or do you want me to set you on fire," another voice whispers.

I feel the restraints loosen and then my hands are free. "They're free!" I proclaim. "I'm free!"

Hands, ones I didn't see in the forest drag me down. They're so beautiful. Strong and controlling hands wanting to devour me, like the deer. "Am I a doe now?"

"You're ours," a voice says.

I hum loudly in a sing-song voice that soured foreign from my lips. "That sounds nice. No one has ever wanted me before. People only want to hurt me, but your fingers feel warm like they're dragging trails of sparkles down my skin."

"She needs water," a voice proclaims. "She can't be too out of it, or it'll be obvious."

I feel cool crystal liquid pour down my lips. "Oh, that's lovely."

"She's needy. Let's do it now. Look how hot she is, she's practically humping the pillow."

"Let's turn on the music," a voice suggests. "Low tempo, something we can dance to."

A beat vibrates through my body. I feel euphoric. Suddenly, I feel a weight on top of me. It feels nice, the way the forest creature is laying his lips on me, over my nipple.

"God, her breasts are magnificent."

"Who would've known beneath those overalls and hoodies."

"Who's first?"

"Twenty-four went through the most because of her," a voice remarks. "He should be first."

Another calls to me. "Who do you want?"

I feel my chest rise and lower. I just want someone to touch me in places I never dared to allow anyone to go. I just want to feel good. "Turn up the music!"

"She's so pretty when she's malleable," a voice comments. "Let's make her feel good. Maybe she'll want to stay."

"Make me feel good," I proclaim, my hands writhing in the air. "I need to feel something."

It's like the music swells and sings. While one person pays attention to sucking my nipples, another concentrates on my clit. I gasp when two of the figures plunge into my core. When did I get naked, I don't remember. But the cool breeze of the air conditioning flitting over my nipples feels nice. My hand grasps behind a neck and pulls them down. I find silky lips, the color of blush pink claim me and devour my mouth. A moan escapes me, the beat of the music vibrates through me. "I need to dance."

All hands release me from my constraints and I sway my hips and move my body to the beat of the music in the forest. I shake and respond to music that flows through my veins. Music that frees me from myself. I move my body, following the colors of purple and red and blue that vibrates before me. Heat closes in around me, trapping me to my room. "I want to be free!" I proclaim.

I feel a mouth on me and then more compete with those lips. A needy gasp escapes my lips and a flush flows from my toes to my calves to my thighs to my core, to my chest. I can feel everything. Every sensation. Every pulse. My needy body writhes to meet every sensation, trying to absorb the moment of independence. The colors of the forest. For the first time in my life, I am alive.

Damon

There are memories I choose to block out. The day a doctor told me my brother died. The day my dad told me I shouldn't come home and to stay out of Mystic Falls. The day Elena Gilbert stopped talking to me. That girl should join the CIA or the KGB. She's skilled at blocking out emotion and blocking out people. I haven't been able to track her since she left Falls City. Based on my resources, I know she left the city. I know she was taken somewhere and from my gut, I know she's in trouble but I don't know where to start.

I walk through the room she slept in the previous night. It still smells like her lavender body wash. I check my watch, it's seven in the morning. I haven't seen her in over twenty-four hours and I'm going out of my mind. I already destroyed the room she was staying in. The flat-screen lays in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The moment I find her, she won't be able to make a move without me knowing. I didn't want to go in this direction, but she left me no choice when she left without telling me anything. No one has been looking out for her. Not her mom, not her dad. She's been alone, well, not anymore. I know she can take care of herself, but she shouldn't have to carry everything on her own.

"Sir," a member of my new security detail walks into Elena's room wearing a uniform of a black long sleeve shirt, a gun holder, and black cargo pants. I stand, not fully realizing I was sitting on her bed. "This was left for you."

It's a manilla envelope. "Who left it?"

There's a smear of what is unmistakably blood on the envelope and I know without looking at the contents, it has to do with Elena. She's been gone too long and there are too many people after her. Blind rage prickles every orifice of my being.

"Was sent by a courier service paid for in cash," he replies.

"There has to be some record," I shout, pushing back the desire to punch him and then fire him on the spot for his incompetence. "If you have to drag that courier back and beat him to a bloody pulp, find out who sent him. That's why I pay you, Goddammit."

"Yes, sir," he replies, slightly bowing and then leaving my sight. I'm glad he left because I can't seem to keep my hands from trembling as I open the envelope. God, I'll never be able to forgive myself if something happened to her. I take out a sheet of yellow legal pad paper. An address is Sharpe is written on the torn piece of paper with a heart traced in blood at the bottom.

I don't hesitate. I sprint to my Maserati and leave the mansion, heading for the address. It could be a trap, but I don't care. I'll figure it out when I get there.

The address is located on the main freeway outside of town, about twenty miles from the mansion. I speed, knowing I could easily get pulled over but not caring. The sun pinks over the horizon. She's been gone for so long, I don't know when she was picked up or what happened to her.

I try hard not to think about where the blood came from as I speed over a hundred miles an hour down the highway, checking my rearview mirror for cops.

When I reach the address, I pull off to the side of the road. It's nothing more than a stretch of grassland, barbed wire, and cows. I open my car door and step out, trying to get my bearings. I look at the address again, making sure I have the right place before stepping out of my car. I walk around the car, looking across the vast green grass, hoping to see something. Movement catches my eye and run towards it. A cage, big enough for a large dog, sits next to a gravel path, among tall weeds. Elena. Taped on the cage is a picture that makes me want to set the world on fire. Elena, laying on her side, her arm covering her naked breasts. Blood pools beneath her, not a lot, but enough for me to know what it was marking the manila envelope.

Her hair sprawls over her shoulders, but she remains unmoved in the wire cage like a wild animal. I snatch the picture from the cage before inspecting how to get her out. I stare at the sight before me. It's horrifically beautiful in an abstract way simply because Elena is gorgeous. Even in a cage, knowing she endured hell, she looks at peace because she's knocked out, unaware of where she is. I have difficulty disrupting that, but I still lean over and check her pulse. A beating heart pulses beneath my fingertips. I check for latches on the cage and find one in the back. It's not hard to figure out how to open it, but it would've been if Elena was by herself.

I reach in the cage and tug her out. Her face is pressed up against the aluminum cage with her hair sprawled over her face. A moan escapes her lips. She's tired and I want to get her out before she realizes where she is. I unlatch the outer hinge and lift her lithe body out of the cage, holding her in my arms. When did she get so thin? Her hip bones protrude and I can count her ribs, but she's still beautiful simply because I know her. When we were seven, Elena and I got lost biking through Mystic Falls. She wanted to swim in a creek just outside of the city. She didn't know where she was going. I knew it. She knew it, but it didn't keep her from biking. "I know it's here somewhere, Damon," she proclaimed over and over again. I just followed because that's what I did where Elena was concerned. It wasn't until she tired out on the side of the road that she gave up, only because she was tired. She fell asleep while I waited for my dad's car to pick us up.

I held her in my lap, stroking her hair while I waited for the car I called to show up. That's how she looked at that moment. Just tired. She didn't give up, her body did. I cradled her body in my arms and carried her to my car, laying her in the back seat. I found a blanket in the trunk and draped it over her naked form. What did she endure last night? What had she been going through for the past twenty-four hours? My darling Elena needed rest and food and safety, but part of me worried she'd still fight simple human needs. She was stubborn, and I knew the only way to take care of her was to love her the way I did when I was seven.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading. I know the last chapter was rough, but I have a direction I want to take this story. I believe firmly in natural consequences, and I feel like I've followed that throughout this story. Noah and Chase would've retaliated after the verdict was read. Elena's been caught up in her parent's relationship with the mob, something she can't help but is involved in by consequence. I'm not putting Elena through a lot to be a sadistic bitch, I'm writing based off personal experience and I'm adding fictional elements to it. Life isn't perfect. This was never advertised as being a fluffy delena fic. It's a dark romance, but I promise, there will be a payoff. Hopefully, you're getting pieces of a payoff along the way, but I have a clear direction I want this story to go, and let me tell you, it's full of angst and pain, but I think you'll really like it. Again, thank you!

Chapter 17

_Thump. Thump. Thump_.

My heart is hammering so loudly it startles me awake. I'm blisteringly hot and throw the blanket that's covering me off- then a cold chill settles over me and I reach for the blanket. My heart rate pulses so rapidly that it resounds in my skull, giving me a headache so painful a high pitched ringing sings in my ears— like when you turn the dial of a car radio. I whimper and press my hand to my forehead, afraid to fully open my eyes fearing any light will make the headache worse. "Elena?"

That's it. That panicked voice is enough to make whatever is swirling in my stomach to come up. I squint, flip the covers back off of my body, and fly to a door I'm hoping leads to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before acidic liquid erupts from my stomach. It's painful to retch, so I cry like I did when I was six and home with the flu. Cool hands sweep my hair out of my face and rub my back. When I think I've expelled everything, I sit back and land into a firm and solid chest.

One of his hands strokes my hair and the other holds me around the waist. I sigh into his chest as the pain in my head starts to wane. "I need to get you back to bed."

"Just one more minute," I sigh, feeling my eyes start to close. Minutes pass. Our breathing matches, in and out as I'm cradled in the arms of someone I know. Someone safe. The strokes of fingers through my hair follow a similar soothing pattern.

I'm about to fall back to sleep when I'm lifted from the floor and carried back to bed.

XXX

A rush of cool air breezes across my face, waking me up. I feel a pinch in my arm and turn to see an IV attached to my wrist with medical tape. A clear tube leads up to a plastic bag filled with yellow liquid hanging on a metal stand. Frantic, I sit up and look around the room. The spot next to me is cool but it looks as though someone was there by the wrinkle of the sheets and the head imprint on the pillow.

The familiar dark mahogany furniture and crisp white sheets tell me that I must be at the Salvatore mansion. I gaze out the open window from the massive bed and recognize the view of the expansive lawn and pool deck. I'm on the second floor of the pool house, which is unlike any other pool house I've seen in movies or magazines because this one is an actual house, with two bedrooms, a living area, entertainment room, a full kitchen, a changing room, and three bathrooms. I've only ever been here once because Damon told me this was where his Dad kept his overnight guests, which didn't make me feel good about my current situation.

I lift my legs over the side of the bed and attempt to stand up while holding onto the metal pole carrying the IV bag. I awkwardly roll the pole to the open bathroom door. My body feels heavy and I immediately regret trying to leave the comfort of a twenty-thousand dollar mattress. I slowly make my way to the bathroom, grateful to have the metal pole as support as I drag it along the floor. When I reach the bathroom, I look in the mirror. Mean purple bruises mar my neck and dot my arms, and on further inspection, my stomach and thighs. Reddish pink marks line my wrists, but worst of all, is the bruise on my cheek, just beneath my right eye. I'm sore down there, and I know somehow even though I can't remember, something happened. I try to talk but my vocal cords are strained and hurt. A painful cough comes out after trying to speak.

I use the bathroom, wash my face, and finding a wrapped toothbrush in the cabinet, probably meant for guests. I brush my teeth repeatedly like I can't get my mouth clean enough. I try to think, searching my mind for a memory of how I got here. Did I sleep with Damon? No, that doesn't seem right. Damon may be a jackass, but I know he'd never take advantage of me. He'd want me to remember sex with him, like the possessive ass he is.

Did I get drunk and sleep with Giuseppe? I am where he used to keep his mistresses. But even drunk, I can't imagine I'd ever willingly sleep with him, the thought has me wanting to expel whatever's left in my system in the toilet. I think back to what I remember last. I was on a bus to find out about my father and I found out…what…I sit on the edge of the cool porcelain white tub wearing a large white shirt and boxer briefs rolled up, and think.

My dad is dead and I went to meet with his lawyer who turned out to work for Dominic Moretti. Dom told me that he'd have a package for me and if I took care of it, he'd give me information on my father, specifically letters my father left me. He also threatened Damon— the boy, he called him. Then I went to my old home and…I close my eyes, picturing my front door.

I was taken.

Dammit.

Grabbing the metal pole, I walk back to the room and search for a clock. I find one on a dresser, flipped over, probably to block light. I turn it right-side up and curse. Based on the date and the time, I've been asleep for three days and I was supposed to pick up the package two days ago. I don't know what Dom must be thinking, worse yet- what he's doing.

I hold the pole with one hand, I search the room for my backpack or phone. When I don't find anything, I tug on the door- locked. I twist the knob in every direction, bang on the door and even though it comes out as a rasp, I try to yell every obscenity I can think of to get someone's attention.

A man with a short, grey beard enters. He has a stethoscope around his neck, so I assume he's a doctor. He's flanked by two large men that look like retired Navy Seals, wearing all black. "You're awake."

I slowly back away. "Who are you?"

"I'm the one that put the IV in your arm, my name is Doctor Klein, I'm Salvatore's personal doctor," he kindly replies. "Could you please have a seat? I need to take your vitals."

My eyes dart behind him, hoping to find an exit or just a path to get out but the Navy Seals block the door, their arms folded. I glare at them. One of the right's lips tilt up slightly, but he remains stoic.

"Where's Damon?" I rasp, refusing to sit down, unfortunately, at that precise moment my knees start to buckle and I falter. One of the Navy Seals swiftly catches me and lifts me while the other says, gruffly. "Mr. Salvatore gave us strict orders to make sure you stay in that bed."

He gently places me on the bed, while the doctor drags the pole back to its original position next to my bed. "I'm fine," I argue, even though I know I am clearly not. The doctor ignores me and does an exam.

After a minute, he gently takes the medical tape off my arm and removes the IV. "Mr. Salvatore called me in the early hours of the morning a couple of days ago," he explains while he works. "You were dehydrated, had chills, nausea, sweats, and high blood pressure. The IV bag was to help with hydration. A toxicology screening found that you had high quantities of MDMA in your system along with Rohypnol, cocaine, and your blood-alcohol level was incredibly high. The combination would've made anyone else go into cardiac arrest. You're very lucky."

I don't know if I'd say I'm lucky. Lucky assumes I'm participating in a game of chance when I feel like someone dropped me in the middle of the wilderness without teaching me how to survive.

He sighs heavily and looks me in the eyes. "Mr. Salvatore suggested I do another exam, but he wanted me to make sure I have your consent before performing the exam."

I swallow and pull the sheets over bare legs. Where's Damon? I gaze around the room, the Navy Seals are back in front of the doorway, looking away from the room. I remember pieces of what happened and my sore and the bruises confirm it, but I never want to go through what I went through at the police station back in August, when all of this started, AGAIN. Doctors are mandated to report and if I get this exam, he'll have to report it. I don't think it's a coincidence that I smell like death, Damon wanted me to make that decision on my own, otherwise, he would've had the doctor do the exam while I was out.

I sit back on the stack of pillows behind me. "STDs?"

Another heavy sigh like he's disappointed. "Came back clean."

Well, that's good.

I don't want to ask for what I need next, but I have a small window of time. "Plan B?"

He reaches into his bag and places a small square pack in my hand. Before letting go, he looks in my eyes. "Elena, I strongly suggest you allow me to examine you further."

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine."

His brown eyes crinkle with worry, but he releases his hand. "You need to be sure you're getting plenty of fluids and rest for the next few days. Your appetite should be back- start slow with dry toast and broth. Your blood sugar is low, which is why you were lightheaded. I wrote you a prescription to help if your headaches persist."

"Thank you, Doctor Klein."

When he leaves the room, the door clicks behind him and I know I'm locked in. The silence that follows is so loud it reverberates throughout my skull. I was supposed to be at the diner for Moretti's package. Is Damon hurt, is that why he's gone? Did Dom go after him like he said he would?

No, somehow that doesn't seem right. Damon placed bodyguards at my door— he's not going to be careless, wherever he is. I laugh to myself. Maybe he's at school. The trial was less than a week ago and yet, school seems like a distant memory. It almost seems foolish to think about attending classes at this point. I can't imagine going back and sharing the hallways with….no.

I slip out of bed and amble to the bathroom to take a shower. I smell so bad I'm surprised the doctor wasn't wearing a face mask. The guest house has a separate modern rainfall shower that falls from the ceiling in two places. I turn on the water and wait for it to heat up before I take off Damon's shirt and boxers and walk-in. I close my eyes and lean my head against the dark stone tile, letting the steaming water soothe my muscles. My muscles ache, especially beneath my abs and upper thighs. I remind myself that the soreness will go away, the bruises will fade, and I will never have to think about the cabin again.

I let the water pound on my back, and steam fill the glass enclosure. The beat of the water falling in a staccato much like if it were raining outside. The patter of rain lulls my mind into that place just before sleep when flashes of men in skull masks and naked bodies dance before me. My eyes flash open and I have to lean against the wall for support. I can't think about it. I don't ever want to think about it but it's there, somewhere in my memory threatening to come out.

Where's Damon?

The answer is simple, he's not here. He left me with a couple of babysitters while he's probably at school drinking his coffee and bourbon. With that thought, I grab the bottle of cherry blossom shampoo that one of Giuseppe's guests probably left, and wash my hair, then scrub my body with a loofa and the same cherry blossom scented body wash, and shave using a new razor I found in the cabinet. I turn off the taps and wrap myself in a large white towel. With the towel wrapped around me, I find a blowdryer and a brush and decide to dry my hair instead of what I usually do, which is to let it air dry or braid it.

With my hair dry, I open the closet and find girl's clothes in the drawers. It's confirmed, one of Giuseppe's flavors of the month stayed here, and it looks like he bought her new clothes because the tags are still on some of the items.

Wearing a simple black v-neck and leggings, I sit on the bed and gaze around the room. I could watch TV on the huge flat screen, I could read one of the books Giuseppe's girlfriend left. It looks like she enjoyed romances. I could try to sleep, but the thought that images could come back to me makes that the most unappealing option.

There is one other option.

I knock on the door. "Will the men currently guarding me for no reason please open the door?"

Nothing.

"I'd like a glass of water."

I hear shuffling, the door clicks open and I take the glass of water handed to me and sit on my bed.

"Thanks," I say, my voice a little more clear and strong than it was an hour ago. They both stand in the doorway, ready to go, but I stop them. "Do you have names or am I just supposed to call you Merry and Pip?"

"The hobbits?"

They look nothing like the hobbits. I mean, for one thing, they're massive and the other, neither share the same pale English skin tone as the actors. But they both have the kind, loyal demeanor of hobbits. "It's a compliment, trust me."

"Santiago," the one who handed me the water says. "That's Malohi."

Malohi waves from the doorway, showing a sleeve of dark ink tattoos. His smile is big and takes up his entire face. A total hobbit who can probably kill with his bare hands. "Nice to meet you both," I say, and I mean it. They seem kind and like we'll get along. "Where's Damon?"

They both remain impassive, I'm guessing they were ordered not to tell me anything. "Fine," I wave my hands in the air. "I get it, but your boss is Mr. Salvatore- Giuseppe Salvatore, and I doubt Giuseppe ordered you not to talk to me."

"Damon hired us, not Giuseppe," Santiago corrects. "But Giuseppe has used our services before."

Huh. I didn't expect that. "Damon hired you? With what money?"

I know Damon makes money off his parties, but this has to be costing more than he can make. They both shrug in reply.

"Damon ordered you not to tell me where he is?"

"Do you need anything else, Ms. Gilbert?"

Malohi grabs the handle, ready shut the door to lock me in, but I don't want to be left alone because then I'll have to think and I don't want to think. I'm not good at recognizing my limitations, which comes in handy as an endurance runner, but even I know that I can't make a break for it.

"Have either of you played Slap Jack?"

Santiago looks at Malohi and they do that silent communication thing, step away from the door frame, and start to shut it. "Wait!" I rasp out.

They pause, waiting for me to say whatever I'm going to say so they can leave.

"Damon ordered you to watch me, but I have school and a job that I need to get to and the moment you shut that door, I'm leaving."

Malohi chuckles. "You won't leave," he points to the large windows adjacent to the bed. "Those are locked and we're on the second story. Even if you could open it, you can't make that jump in your condition."

"There's a great climbing tree just outside the window in the bathroom."

I'm lying, there isn't, but I'm guessing they won't check and I don't want to be in this room by myself.

A resigned look comes across Santiago's face, but he looks amused.

I pat the spot on the bed next to me. "There are playing cards in the entertainment room."

Malohi leaves to get the playing cards while Santiago sits on the massive California King bed. "Are you usually assigned to watch over teenage girls in pool houses?" I ask conversationally.

Santiago lifts up his hands, palm up, and shrugs. "Sometimes."

I think he's joking, but I can't be too sure. "When did Damon hire you?"

Santiago gives me what can only be described as an _are you kidding me_ look.

"Fine! I won't ask," I pause and look at him in the eyes. "Do you have a gun?"

Santiago smirks. He's a man of few words and I immediately liked him. Malohi walks in carrying a few bottles of water, a bag of pretzels, and a deck of cards. I teach them how to play and before I know it, the bag of pretzels is gone, a few hours have passed, and Malohi is accusing me of cheating because my hand is too fast and I've won the last four rounds. I'm laughing so hard, I fall back into the pillows. "Being a sore loser doesn't make you very attractive, Mal," I mock. "Maybe Damon shouldn't trust you to protect me."

Mal deals, while Santi checks his phone. "If we can effectively protect heads of state, we can protect a senior in high school."

I decide it's time to slip in a question. "And yet, you worked for Giuseppe."

Mal snorts. "Isabella was younger than you when she gave us the slip. That girl could find her way out of any room, including her own sixteenth birthday party," Mal looks at Santiago. "Maybe we shouldn't look after teenage girls."

"Who's Isabella?"

"Younger sister of a friend of Giuseppe's," Santi explains. "We've worked a lot of jobs for Giuseppe over the years, but her's was the most unusual. You remind me of her, to be honest. Probably why she came to mind."

"What was her last name?"

"Russo," he replies.

I flip my card in the middle of the pile. A Jack. Mal curses before flipping over a queen. He cheers like he's won the Super Bowl, and Santi goes. "Why did Giuseppe have you protect the younger sister of a friend?"

"It was about seventeen years ago. I'd just finished my last tour of Iraq and was looking for something different," he replies, laying a king on the stack. We all curse, my turn's next and the stack is getting better and better. Lots of face cards in this one.

"Was she in trouble?" I lay down a seven of hearts. I curse. Santi cheers. He wins the stack.

"She craved peanut butter ice cream and shredded pork sandwiches," Mal replies. "She liked my wife's cooking."

"Or grilled cheese," Santi adds. "Oh, and remember the time she ate all of Lily's guacamole? Lily was helping Isabella with homework and made a bowl of guacamole with chips. Bella ate the entire bowl. Lily kept asking, over and over, where this girl put all that food."

Mal chuckles, but I'm thinking. "Why did Giuseppe pay you to protect a girl that wasn't part of his family?"  
Something about what I asked sobers both Santi and Mal. They simultaneously toss their cards in the middle of the table. "I'm ordering pizza. What do you want, Elena?"

"I want to know why you were told to protect a sixteen-year-old girl," I state.

Santi sighs heavily. "Her father wasn't very nice."

And then it dawns on me. If Santi and Mal were hired outside Isabella's family, they didn't have to take her father's orders. They could actually protect her. Giuseppe might be a ruthless businessman, but he's always been nice to me and has given Damon anything he wants, except his time and attention. Who was Isabella and why did that name sound so familiar?

"I'll eat whatever," I say, picking up all the cards and stacking them.

It was well past seven in the evening, and Damon hasn't shown. During our many games of slapjack, I looked over at the mansion through the windows, wondering if Damon was home and refusing to see me because of what he saw. I'm not going back to school. If Damon is so repulsed by what he saw, there's no way I'm facing the people that put me there.

Damon

Elena's going to kill me.

I went to school today, drank my coffee, and pretended as though nothing was wrong, just as I did the previous day when Elena was passed out in my pool house. In the middle of lunch, when Ainsley Chandler sat on my lap and asked me to feed her her salad, with no dressing, I did it. I even made out with her when she finished her dry as fuck salad. She didn't taste nearly as sweet as Elena and it pretty much ripped my heart out to be doing this with her here, while Elena was stuck with nowhere to go.

Malohi and Santiago both have experience guarding smart girls, and I had no doubt they'd be able to protect Elena. The thing is, I didn't know what I was protecting her from. I had a guess, one I was willing to bet a billion dollars on, but I wanted to know every detail and every factor that may come into play.

"Where's Elena?" I ask Chase, while Ainsley sits on my lap, playing with my zipper. I want to shove her off my lap and warn her that Elena will come after her, but I can't.

Chase looks at Noah and grunts. "Fuck if I know."

They've both been acting like twitchy little rats since they saw me return to school on Monday. I know they were involved and they must know I know something because of the note, but as I said, I need to know all the details before I act- though I do have something planned for later. An appetizer for what's about to come their way.

"She won the case on Friday, you'd think she'd be out celebrating," I comment.

A glimmer of guilt flashes across Chase's face before it vanishes. "She lied. If a woman accuses a man of assault, she's always right, right? It's like no matter what, men are the victims."

I want to punch his smug face when the bell rings. He turns slightly toward the noise, and it's only then that I notice a series of three scratches on his cheek. I'm willing to bet he was involved, but I already suspected him so it doesn't feel like an accomplishment. I know Noah was involved, because rumor has it, he lost his scholarship after he was accused of assault. The school's star football player doesn't have a college acceptance letter— that has to sting. Enough to hurt the girl who happened to say no and fight back.

I'm looking for the other's involved. I have an appointment with the county records office to see who owns property within the radius of where I found Elena. Revenge isn't best served in the heat of passion, but when one knows all the facts. I move Ainsley off my knee. "Are you going to have a party this weekend, Damon?"

I think about it momentarily. I should probably keep things as normal as possible. Noah and Chase are already being weird around me, if I ignore it and continue as planned, I'll be able to find out more.

I nod at Ainsley. "There's a warehouse off of route 56," I explain. "The party is there. Bring your friends, bring everyone."

She smirks and pecks me on the lips. "Yay!" She exclaims, in an annoying and childish way. "We're going to have so much fun."

I tug Ainsley close to me and whisper in her ear, "Be sure Chase and Noah are there."

Ainsley isn't the most popular girl but she has the most connections. In her years of attending schools in Mystic Falls, she's the only person who hasn't managed to offend or piss off one group of people. Her dad is a celebrity lawyer and her mom is a reality show queen. Ainsley grew up in the limelight and I wouldn't be surprised if she had her own reality show in the works.

"Where's Elena?" Ainsely asks.

I never said Ainsley was dumb.

"The fuck if I know," I reply, kissing her on the cheek.

She smirks, complacent with my answer.

"Find out what Noah did last weekend, and I'll make sure you have fun this weekend."

"Seriously?"

"You know me," I reply, squeezing her waist. "I want all my guests to have a good time."

Realization dawns on her, and she hops up. "Give me until next period and I'll find out."

I slap her ass. "Good girl."

I want to dunk my entire hand in a bottle of disinfectant and then take a shower.

Am I happy with my actions? No, but Ainsley texted me thirty minutes later telling me that a freshman was bragging about fucking Elena Gilbert over the weekend. Frederick Brown. Instead of going to my English Lit class, I go to the county's office and look at a map of properties within a twenty-mile radius of where I found Elena. A cabin, owned by a Gregory Brown, is within a five-mile radius of where I found Elena. Coincidence? I don't think so.

I skip my last class of the day, A.P. Chemistry, and drive to the cabin. It's a three-story hunting cabin, deep in the woods. I park at the bottom of the dirt drive that leads up to the house. I find a black hoodie in the trunk and an extra backpack that I load with supplies. Pulling the hood over my head and keeping my head low, I walk toward the house.

I walk around the house first, checking for cameras or security. Most cabins like this, this far into the woods, don't bother with regular home security which is probably why Elena was kept here. Unless you know where to look, you're not going to find this place easily and there's no other property for miles. Unfortunately, all the doors are locked and there aren't any open windows. The backdoor, however, has a weak deadbolt lock. I crouch low and take out a lock picking kit from my backpack.

Elena's uncle taught us both how to pick locks, but she was always better at it than me. She had more patience, though I'd never tell her that. Our camping retreats with her Uncle John were more like junior con artists' camp. How to hotwire a car? Break into a house? Pickpocket someone on the street? Steal from a store? Check, check, check, and check. Some of my best memories were our adventures with Uncle John. The guy taught me more than school ever did.

It takes me a few minutes, but the kit John gifted me that summer does the trick. The lock clicks and I walk in the home. Walking through the home, I look for anything that'd give me a clue as to what happened. I don't find anything of significance on the first floor. The trashes were emptied in the kitchen and garage. The refrigerator in the kitchen doesn't have anything perishable in it, just bottled water and condiments.

I make my way upstairs, bypassing pictures of members of the Brown family standing next to dead animals- one of which is a picture of Frederick standing next to an elephant he shot on a trip to Africa. Clearly, this family has a superiority complex.

It isn't until I walk through the second floor that I smell leftover hints of weed, sweat, and something musky. I open a bedroom door, a room with a bunk bed, and red flannel blankets. I open another, this one has a full bed with a wood frame that makes it look as though it was made out of tree branches. Antlers decorate the head of the bed, but the room still smells like a combination of laundry detergent and stale air.

I move to the next room. This one is immediately different from the rest. There's a photo of a deer in the woods that's tilted to the side. I walk over to it and lift it from the hook. It's obvious by the shadows of faint dust on the wall that this wasn't the original piece of artwork on the wall. The original frame has a much smaller, rectangular stain, hidden beneath the picture of the deer in the forest. I place the picture on the bed and pull out the backing. There aren't wires, but two holes that wouldn't be noticeable unless the picture was taken apart. Feeling like I'm close to something, I search the room. That's when I see it, Elena's charm bracelet laying beneath the bed. She wasn't wearing it that night, but it must've fallen out of her backpack. I pocket the bracelet and continue searching. The waste bin in the room is empty, but when I enter the joining bathroom, it's a different story. Multiple tied up condoms lay in the bin, on top of that, a hot chocolate wrapper and a couple of bottles of vodka. I take pictures of everything, the bed, the picture, the trash bin, the condoms, the bottles of alcohol.

There's something in me that's angry. It's a wave of violent anger I've never felt before. In the garage, I find a few bottles of lighter fluid. I spray everything with that liquid. The picture of Frederick with the elephant, the bed Elena was raped in, the kitchen, even the vintage Jeep parked in the garage. When I feel like everything is covered, I light a match and let it drop. I light another in the bedroom and let that one drop. Finally, I drop one on top of the Jeep Wrangler and run. Once I'm in my car, I watch the house burn before starting the ignition and heading back to the mansion.


	18. Chapter 18

Dear Friends- thank you for taking the time to read this labor of love. I've truly enjoyed every second I've spent writing this fic and have a clear direction I want it to go. Thank you for being so supportive throughout all my writing breaks. Writing has always been a release for me- I'm so glad that I get to share my hobby with you all. Thank you.

Chapter 18

Elena

"I like this Logan kid," Santi comments from the armchair beside my bed. Mal sits next to me, his hands behind his head.

"Nah, Veronica can't stand Logan, she likes Duncan," Mal adds.

They both look at me expectantly. "Veronica cares more about her dad than either Duncan or Logan."

"Cop-out," Santi remarks.

"I know how this ends!" I yell. "I've seen this before, I'm just trying to not spoil anything,"

"Veronica likes the bad-boy because he's the only one that can understand that part of her," someone says.

I look up and see Damon standing in the doorway, wearing a v-neck white shirt and low slung jeans, covered in soot, but wearing the confident smirk I know and love. However, I'm not about to let him know what I'm thinking. "Logan should've been more upfront with her. Explained where he was and why he couldn't be there when she was going through hell."

"I doubt Logan thought through the ramifications of his actions."

"Clearly," I remark.

Santi and Mal have smartly slipped out of the room, leaving me, lying on the California King bed, and Damon, standing in the doorway. Damon strides into the room and reaches my bed within a couple of paces. He plops on the bed, getting soot everywhere and tugs me on top of his chest. I wriggle free and move away from him, standing beside the bed. "Where were you?"

"School."

I point to the obvious soot marks on his clothes. "Unless MFHS is actually built on a Hellmouth, I doubt that's the only place you've been."

Damon mocks being deep in thought by placing an index finger over his lips and tilting his chin up. After a dramatic pause, he says. "I'll make you a deal."

"You left me alone all day with no explanation and no way of leaving. I don't want to make a deal with you."

Damon ignores my words, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a phone, new by the looks of it. He waves it around and pats the spot on the bed I just left. "Don't you want a new phone?"

"You can't buy me, Damon."

He continues to ignore me. "You tell me where you went on Saturday, and I'll give you this phone and tell you what's going on."

I fold my arms and remain resolute.

Damon sighs dramatically and unlocks the phone. "You have an email from your coach about a meet on Saturday," Damon scrolls through. "You need to turn in your college application essays," he looks up. "You still haven't done that?" He looks back at the phone. "Rafe emailed you _several_ times. He's sorry he kissed you," anger clouds Damon's face. "That tool."

"Damon!" I yell.

He holds up his finger, telling me to wait a minute. "I'm reading Rafe's love letter to you, and let me tell you, a poet, he is not."

"Damon!"

"_Elena, I haven't been able to row for days I'm so troubled by what I did,_" Damon reads. "_I wanted you by my side when I went to California, but I blew it. I feel like half my heart is in Mystic Falls_."

Damon pauses and looks at me. "You really did a number on this kid, Elena."

I'm so angry, I pounce on the bed and try to grab the phone from his hands. "Stop reading my emails, Damon!"

Damon easily holds it out of reach and continues to read. "_I know what I did was wrong, but I think I love you, Elena and love makes people do stupid things._"

I'm on top of him, grabbing his forearm so I can snatch the phone from his grasp. "Damon!"

"I'm liking you in this position, Elena," he casually comments. "Please keep it up."

My boobs are in his face. I use it to my advantage and lean closer. Damon takes his attention away from the phone for a split second and I grab it. I roll off of him, hop off the bed, and do a touchdown dance. "I got it! I got it!"

He places his hands behind his head and chuckles. Damon's shirt rides up a bit revealing his abs. His countable abs. He smirks, "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

I roll my eyes and open up the camera app on the phone and do just that. Damon laughs and I remember how much I used to like that sound. He doesn't look younger, but less stressed- less like the world is plotting against him. "How did you get my email and everything on this fancy new phone?"

He wiggles his eyebrows. "I have my ways."

"And millions at your disposal."  
Damon gives me an innocent one-shouldered shrug. "That too."

"Are you really going to tell me what you were up to while two hired goons were left to watch me?"

"Are you going to tell me about where you went on Saturday?"

He's not pushing me to talk about what happened later. The benefit of Damon knowing me since I was a kid— he knows when to push and where. He knew how to distract me, just as he always has.

Oddly enough, I'm not mad at him for leaving me here, locked in a room in his pool house. In retrospect, I think I welcomed the excuse to not do anything. I didn't have to go to work or worry about Dom or worry about school and the people there. Which is probably why I find myself nodding. "Yeah, I'll tell you."

I put my phone on the nightstand and sit next to Damon.

"So where did you run off to?"

"You can probably guess the first part. I took a bus to visit my dad…Grayson," I correct. "…in jail to ask him questions."

"And how is Grayson holding up?"

"He's dead," I state. "The warden met with me and told me that he died in a prison riot."

"Elena…" Damon's voice cracks but I interrupt him.

"No, Damon," I plead, I can't handle pity right now, otherwise the dam will burst open and I won't be able to stop. "Don't, or I won't be able to finish."

He closes his eyes like he's trying to restrain himself and takes a deep breath. "Okay, what happened next?"

"The warden said his lawyer had information for me," I explain.

"Mark Fell?"

I shake my head. "Dad got a new lawyer in jail, Diego Romano."

"Diego is a mob lawyer," Damon explains. "Please tell me you didn't go see him alone."

I shrug. "I didn't know! If I knew, I wouldn't have gone."

Actually, I probably still would've gone.

"You still would've met with him," Damon comments, effectively reading my thoughts. "You're fearless, it's one of the things that I'm starting to hate about you."

I ignore his comment. "So I took a bus to Falls City and went to the lawyer's office, but he wasn't there- Domenico Moretti was. My dad or Grayson or whoever he has left information for me- letters. Domenico is convinced that I'll be good at selling for him, so he told me that I have to sell enough to pay back my parents' debt and he'll give me information Grayson left."

"Why you?"

"I don't know," I reply, honestly. "He says I'm resourceful. He told me a package would be delivered on Monday, at 8:00, during my shift at Patty's."

"It's Wednesday."

I roll my eyes. "I'm well aware of that."

Damon leans his head back on the pillow, looking at the ceiling while lost in thought. "You're not leaving this pool house," he mutters. "I'll get all your school books and homework. Hell, I'll film classes for you. You aren't leaving the property until I figure this out."

I think he's joking, but I'm not entirely sure. "I'm feeling better. I have to go back to school at some point, Damon."

He takes my hand and clasps his fingers through mine like I'm a lifeline. "What happened next?"

"I didn't want anyone following me to your place, so I went back to my home on the south side and that's when I was jumped." I didn't intend to tell him this, but it starts spilling out of me. He squeezes my hand, giving me the strength to continue.

"I was knocked out and woke up tied to a bed," I close my eyes, trying to remember. "I woke up blindfolded. Chase was there, I'm not positive, but I recognized his voice. I heard another, a voice I didn't recognize- he's an underclassman. I remember Chase yelling at him. His dad owns the cabin- I was in a cabin. Chase took my mask off and gave me water and a peanut butter sandwich. I tried to convince him to let me go, and I thought he would for a moment— but then he gave me hot chocolate laced with something." I close my eyes. "They were wearing masks with skulls on them. There was a picture of a deer in the woods on the wall…and that's all I remember except flashes like I remember _Teardrop_ by Massive Attack playing and jumping on the bed saying I loved the song." Tears spring to my eyes, that feeling of not being in control- just aching to feel good. I look at Damon and wipe my tears with the palm of my hand. "They didn't force me, Damon. I wanted it. I remember wanting it."

Damon sits up and takes my hands. He looks me in the eyes and mine search his pale blue irises- searching, for what, I don't know. "You were drugged. Doctor Klein told you what was in your bloodstream, right? You had no control over what you were doing."

I look away, closing my eyes.

"Look at me, Elena."

Immediately, my eyes go back to his. "We are going to make them pay and we'll figure out how to deal with Moretti together."

He wipes tears from my face, he's so gentle. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I reply, almost surprised how easily the word falls from my lips.

"Is that all you remember?"

"Chase was pissed because the video from the trial showed him giving me the Rohypnol and his college acceptance was rescinded- same with Noah. He lost his football scholarship," I add. "That's all I remember."

"What I don't get, is if Moretti was watching you, why didn't he stop Noah and Chase from taking you?"

In retrospect, losing Moretti's men was a bad move on my part. "I might have ditched the guy he had watching me, stolen a car, drove to Costco, and hitched a ride with a family going back to Mystic Falls."

Damon tugs me to him, so I'm lying on his chest and his arms are wrapped around me. He kisses my forehead. "That's my girl," he mutters. "Smart and fearless."

"Except if Jasper had taken me home, I doubt Chase and Noah would've been able to jump me."

"You need to stop blaming yourself," Damon says, pressing his lips to my forehead. "You didn't know what would happen. You did everything I would've done- your Uncle John would be proud."

"I don't even know if he's my uncle."

Damon hums, pulling me closer to him. "There's one person who has to know and we've both been avoiding using his considerable resources."

I turn to look at Damon- it'd kill him to contact this person. "We don't have to call your dad. You hate him."

"True, but he knows Grayson and Miranda and I've had a feeling that for a while, he's known more about you than he'll admit to me."

I lean into him and get a whiff of smoke. "Are you going to tell me what you've been up to?"

"Yes."

I move away from his embrace so I can look at him, but he just ends up tugging me toward him so I'm forced to straddle him, but at least this way I can look him in the eyes. "Well…."

"You're not going to like what I'm about to tell you, but I think you need to know."

"Just tell me, Damon."

It can't be any worse than what I'm thinking.

"I was sent a letter with your blood on it…"

My brows knit in confusion. There aren't any cuts on my body. "My blood?"

Damon gives me a minute to figure it out and when I do, I'm disgusted. "Oh, God."

I may vomit. I lean over Damon and take a drink of water from the bottle on the nightstand. When I look like I've regained composure, Damon continues. "I was given coordinates and drove there. I found you passed out in a cage, on the side of the road. A picture was taken of you from earlier and taped on the cage. I wrapped you in a blanket and carried you to my car. I had Doctor Klein meet me at the mansion and take care of you. You were vomiting a lot that first night and then you passed out until this morning."

"What were you doing while I was locked away?"

"I went to school and acted like everything was normal," he explains. "At that point, I didn't know much, but I knew a note was sent to me by a courier paid in cash with your location on it. Noah was the one that pain in cash, though that's no surprise. I was the one that arranged for my security footage to show what happened that night at the trial. I knew that me acting like everything was fine would throw them off, so I continued to eat with Noah and Chase and when people asked where you were, I said I didn't know. Meanwhile, I searched county records for properties within a five-mile radius of where I found you and found a cabin, deep in the woods."

I perk up. "Did you break-in?"

"One of these days, I'm going to have to take Uncle John for a drink to thank him for everything he taught me."

"Same," I add.

"I broke into the cabin. It belongs to Lucas Brown, the father of Frederick Brown, an underclassman at MFHS," Damon explains. "I searched the cabin and didn't find much until I reached a room with a picture of a deer in the forest."

My eyes widen. "Oh, God."

"Yup," Damon says. I can only imagine what he saw. "And then I burned the place down."

I can't help but feel satisfied by that. "Well, that explains the soot."

"We can stay here or in the main house," Damon says. "But either way, I need a shower."

"Are Santi and Mal a permanent fixture in my life?"

"I think you need to stay here for one more day before you go back to school, is that okay with you?"

"Stay with me?"

"The moment you leave this property, Dom's men will be after you, I'm not leaving you," Damon affirms

"Let's just stay here, then," I mutter. "You need a shower."

He chuckles. "Yes, but I need to call my dad first. He'll be able to give you answers you thought only Moretti could give you."

I know how much he hates calling his dad, it's why I've avoided it for this long. The phone rings and Damon put it on speaker. "Son," his father answers. "What did you do this time? Do you need to go to rehab again?"

I lean into Damon and hug his waist.

"No, Dad," he replies. "Elena is here, and she was wondering if you could answer some of her questions."

"Elena?" Giuseppe proclaims. "How's she holding up?"

Damon gives me an encouraging nod, so I speak up. "Not well, sir."

"What happened, Elena? Tell me and I'll kill whoever hurt you."

I smile at Damon. So much like his father. "I actually need information, Giuseppe. My dad died in jail and Miranda admitted to not being my biological mom. I was wondering if you knew anything about my biological parents."

There's a long pause, in which Damon and I both look at each other, worried Giuseppe hung up. "I'm sorry that you had to find out this way, but your mom was just sixteen when she had you. She came to me because she knew I could protect you…" Giuseppe clears his throat like he's embarrassed. "She and I had a brief affair a couple of years ago and you two look so much alike, it's uncanny."

I look at Damon, who grimaces. That explains Lucinda's statement about seeing me with Giuseppe.

"When you were born, Elena, Isabella was worried about bringing you into the life she was raised in. Isabella's last name is, Russo. Grayson and I were best friends, and I knew if you were part of a Founding Family of Mystic Falls, you'd be protected. Miranda was having problems conceiving and wanted a baby so badly. I told Grayson about Isabella and he agreed to take you in and protect you. I think he told Miranda that you were the product of an affair."

I gasp. No wonder Miranda always hated me.

"You have to understand," Giuseppe explains. "That Grayson was trying to protect you. If anyone knew you were a member of the Russo family, you would've been a target. You would've been taken."

"Who's my dad?" I ask, still stunned by the revelations.

"Isabella fell in love with the son of another crime boss, Antonio Giovanni. You're a Principia, Elena. You come from two of the most powerful families in the states. If anyone found out who you were, you'd be in danger. Isabella was so worried about what would happen to you if anyone realized who you were. Hiding you in Mystic Falls was her greatest sacrifice."

I'm breathless. It explains what Lucinda saw. She didn't see me with a towel on, visiting Giuseppe, she saw my mom. My real mom. "Is she alive?"

A pause.

"She died five months ago- B cell lymphoma."

Cancer.

"Where's my dad?"

"In New York, but Elena, don't look for him. He's incredibly powerful and already has a couple of sons ready to take over his business."

I have half brothers. I have a family I didn't know about.

Finally, I ask the question that's been plaguing me for years. "Why did my dad sell drugs? The man that let me hand out lollypops when I was seven wouldn't have gotten in this life."

A heavy sigh. "A few of the original families in New York figured out you existed. Grayson set up a prescription drug ring to distract them and got involved with the wrong people here, in Virginia. No one would've guessed that Grayson would develop an addiction- I tried to help him but he's so proud. He was embarrassed."

"Thank you for answering my questions, Giuseppe."

"Are you in any danger, Elena?"

I lean back into the pillows while Damon answers his dad. "I've got people watching her, dad."

Damon lifts the earpiece to his ear and I can hear some of the conversations, but it's better than listening and knowing Giuseppe knows I'm listening. "I'm protecting her, Dad. Yes, I'm using all our resources."

"I don't know who knows! You never told me about this," Damon yells into the phone. "Yeah, Dad. It would've been nice if at some point you told me that the girl I love is a mob princess."

Girl he loves?

This has to be Damon in the heat of passion, trying to figure things out. Apparently, I'm the only one slightly weirded out by the fact that his dad and my mom had an affair.

Damon and his dad reach some sort of agreement before he ends the call.

"My dad just gave me full access to his bank account in order to protect you, so that's a positive," Damon explains, though he's not meeting my eyes.

"If I fucked Giuseppe, would that make this less weird?" I joke.

Damon grabs my hips and throws me on my back. I have no choice but to look at him. "Don't joke about fucking my dad," he admonishes. "There was a second there…"

"I know," I reply. "But it's not true, so let's focus on that."

"This explains Moretti's fascination with you. Elena, I'm sorry, I know you're strong and can figure a way out of any situation, but Santi and Mal will always be with you unless I'm with you."

I nod in agreement. "I don't know how he's going to react to me missing the deadline on Monday," I say. "Damon, I think he knows about my biological parents. He kept talking about how I'm perfect for phase two."

Damon leans over and kisses my forehead. "I know you'll hate this, but I'm asking you to please not leave my side. You've been through so much already, let me take care of things within our control."

"As long as you don't treat me as a useless porcelain doll and you agree that we work together, I'm okay with you being by my side at all times."

"So you're not mad that I burned down the cabin you were kept in," he remarks.

"Hell no," I state. "As long as you weren't caught, I'm fine."

"Are you going to be able to pretend that nothing is wrong if you go back to school on Friday?"

"You might've forgotten because you were the main instigator, but I've put up with a lot. I'll be fine, on Friday and if I'm not, I'll have no trouble retaliating."

Damon chuckles and lets me go while he takes a shower. I change into a tank top and shorts that I find in the dresser. I turn out the lights and pull the crisp white duvet over myself before nodding off. While I'm drifting between awake and asleep, I feel myself being tugged against a hard, warm body. A sigh escapes my lips before I fall into a deeper sleep


	19. Chapter 19

Author's note: So many of you may wonder why Elena isn't going to the police, and the reason is that she doesn't trust them after her first encounter with them at the beginning of the story. Damon doesn't trust them either because they immediately believed he was responsible for Jeremy's death. I hope that clarifies any questions you may have. This isn't a simple story where good and bad are clearly defined. As a writer, I prefer to explore the grey areas. Thank you for reading and thank you for the kind reviews.

Chapter 19

Elena

Grayson taught me many lessons, one of which was to never fall in love. "It'll make you weak," he said, over and over again. "The only love that is true is that between a parent and a child."

Looking back on that moment, he could've been talking about Jeremy. He could've been talking about me and my biological parents. But there's one simple fact that remains true. Love makes you weak. Grayson took me in because he loved Miranda and wanted to give her a baby, when I ended up ruining everything. Love made Damon drop the ball when he was supposed to watching Jeremy and Stefan. Love made me go back to my house in the south side, instead of going back the Salvatore mansion. I wanted to protect him and keep him from all of this and now I'm stuck in his pool house, being guarded.

I enjoyed sitting back and relaxing for a change, and I've been a good little girl- sticking to my cage and not wandering outside it.

Except…. I need to do something and Damon isn't going to like it.

It's Friday morning, the sun hasn't risen, but the clock tells me it's going to rise within the next half hour. Damon is by my side, his face in my neck, and his hands around my waist. With his legs wrapped around me. I'm in a Damon cocoon. It's not unpleasant. It's actually quite the opposite— it's delightful being wrapped up in Damon. Yesterday, I stayed in the pool house with Santi and Mal and watched television while Damon went to school.

Surprisingly enough, on Thursday, the college admissions essays that were due to Mrs. White were easy to write. I'd sent them to her a couple of weeks ago, but yesterday, I was able to send an edited version. It's the most honest piece of writing I've ever written, and I'm hoping that administrators from schools I applied to can see that.

Once I was done with my admission essays, I watched television with Mal and Santi and then went to the gym to run sprints. The bruise on my cheek has almost completely faded and I'm not as sore as I was a couple days ago. Other than missing fourteen hours from my memory, it seems as though everything is back to normal.

I'm eager to put it behind me, though Damon can't seem to let it go. At first, he was almost relieved that I had little to no memory of that evening, but as hours wore on, he came to the realization that it wasn't exactly healthy for me to completely block out these memories and pretend that nothing had happened.

Damon had his arms wrapped around my waist and his legs wrapped around me, cocooning me in. I don't mind waking up this way- I actually prefer waking up this way because Damon kisses my neck so sweetly and then hums into my neck, asking me what I'd like for breakfast before pealing himself off of me. It's a very PG way to wake up.

I'm supposed to go to school today, but I can't- I need Damon to go without me.

I keep the white duvet over my head and moan like a child. "I don't want to go!"

Damon flips the duvet over. "You are not a coward, Elena."

I grab the duvet with one hand and flip it back over my head. "I'll go next week."

I wait. This is usually the point in which Damon would drag me out of bed or just leave. It seems as though neither of us is moving. "If you don't go," he says, slowly and methodically into my ear. "I'll be forced to go to my party with Ainsley, and I'd rather go with you."

I don't know when Damon and I became a couple— I actually don't know what we are. It's like we slowly morphed into a more mature version of the relationship we had as kids who used to do science fairs together and pickpocket strangers at the mall. I can't pinpoint a moment when it changed and I'm not talking about when he gave me an orgasm on the hood of his car. Maybe all those letters we wrote back and forth for English?

Damon's been surprisingly honest. He told me about the party and his fake girlfriend at school. It didn't bother me as much as he thought it would, but really, who's he coming home to at night? He isn't passive or guilty towards me. He's not avoiding me, which is what he'd do if he had something to hide.

I swallow and sit up because I don't know how he's going to take what I'm about to say. I'm propped up against pillows while Damon lazily looks at me. He's just wearing pajama bottoms and I instantly want to go back to our cocoon.

"I think you should go with Ainsley."

Damon's eyebrows shoot up so fast, he sits up next to me. "Excuse me, what?"

I pull the duvet over my lap as an added protective barrier. "I think you need to hate me right now," I explain. "At school. For show."

He shakes his head. "You're going to school, I'm going to carry your books and hold your hand, and maybe make out with you by your locker. I have a certain fantasy about that locker that's been brewing in my mind for the last couple of years."

I need to push him.

"You won't kiss me now!" I shout.

He scoffs. "I kissed you this morning."

"On the neck and it was very sweet but you're treating me like I'm going to break."

"You've been through a lot—"

"I don't remember anything!" I interrupt. "I remember being taken and tied up in the cabin and flashes here and there, yes. But I don't remember the rest and I'm grateful, Damon. You admitted last night that it's odd Chase, Noah, and Franklin are being silent. We both agreed we don't want to involve the police. We don't know what their next move is— nothing has been said about the fire you set. You need to hate me Damon, shouldn't be hard for you. Talk about me, say I'm used goods, call me Easy Elena. Lead them into a sense of complacency. They need you, Damon. There's a full school year left and I doubt they want to go through it without your infamous parties or connections."

Damon moves so he's sitting partially on the bed but able to face me. His jaw is set and his eyes are rather stormy. He's pissed. "You're forgetting something, Elena. I remember. I remember getting a package with _your_ blood on it. I remember seeing your naked body in a cage. I remember carrying your bruised and broken body into the house. I remember holding you while you vomited everything that was in your system. I remember having the doctor come to look at you- hearing the results. This happened to you and I'm glad you don't remember it, but I want to kill those assholes for what they did to you because I remember and I never want you to have to go through that again."

I'm so taken aback, I feel tears prick at my eyes. Am I asking for too much?

No, Damon isn't acting rationally. He knows I'm right, I know he does because he only lashes out like this when I'm right. I swallow the tears that are about to spring from my eyes. "It wasn't long ago you hated me. It wasn't long ago you were hanging out with those guys. They hurt me once before, remember? At _your_ party. You know I'm right, you know that you have to do this."

"But why do _you_ want it so badly, Elena. Why do you want me to hate you?"

I scoff, he's being dramatic. "It's just for school."

He crawls back on the bed. "Do you know what happens when I hold you, just at first?"

Where is he going with this?

He continues to crawl over me so his arms and legs are on either side of me and his head is above mine so I'm forced to focus on him and only him. "You freeze," he says lightly, almost a whisper. "For a second, and then you let me hold you."

Am I that messed up? I blink several times, my eyes darting anywhere bit at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You've been through a lot," he repeats from moments earlier. "And I'm not just talking about recent events, but after Jeremy died, you've been on your own. I wasn't there for you, but you're so used to taking care of yourself— in every way, you don't know what to do when someone does care for you."

"You think I'm going to push you away," I breathe.

His hand moves a lock of hair away from my eyes and tilts my chin with his thumb and index finger so I'm forced to look at him. "You already are, so if I do this know that I am going to remind you every second I get the chance that I have your back. You don't have to go through this alone anymore."

"Kiss me."

He shakes his head. "Not right now."

"I want to prove that I won't tense up," I say. I don't want to be a freak. I don't want to spend the rest of my life messed up or dealing with the ramifications of my fucked up childhood.

Damon reads something in my eyes, leans down and kisses my lips— and I feel it. The split second of hesitation and I know Damon does too. Except, instead of ending it and moving off the bed, he deepens the kiss— almost taking my moment of hesitation as a challenge. One hand is behind my neck while the other keeps him propped above me.

He's soft at first, as he has been these past few days. Velvet soft and so sweet, I crave something darker and angrier. I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him deeper. I want to feel him on me. "More," I moan, opening my mouth to welcome his tongue. Damon growls, deepening the kiss- exploring my mouth. His tongue slides against mine, sending tingles up my spine. I couldn't think about what I was planning, I couldn't think about tomorrow's meet, or how Damon would act at school, it was just him and me back in our little cocoon.

His hands are beneath my tank, rubbing my bare flesh. "I could skip school."

I bow my back into his touch, searching for friction. "You can't," I mutter, sucking his bottom lip while his hands slowly graze the underside of my breasts.

"Oh, God," I moan. "Keep doing that."

He does the opposite. He moves his hands out of my shirt and rests his palms on either side of my head. "Why not?"

"The plan- you hate me and you have a party tonight," I remind him.

I know I pissed him off because he groans and moves away from me, off the bed. "I don't like this."

I get up and walk towards him. "It's not like I'm loving it, either."

Damon's heated gaze tracks my bare legs and shorts, up to where his hands were seconds before. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration and groans. "Fine."

I am mesmerized by him; getting off the bed moved his pajama bottoms just below his hips, just above….he pulls me to him, tilts my head up and presses his lips to mine. "Don't look at me like that if you don't want me to stay."

I want him to stay and spend the morning with me being lazy but I need to do this before it's too late.

Damon continues. "Santi and Mal will be here to keep an eye on things. Text me if you need anything- I'll ditch the party early and be back here as soon as I can."  
"Don't, I'll be fine; I'll probably nap all day."

He smiles sadly before leaving the guest house to get ready for school. I take a moment to check out his ass as he leaves because I'm only human and he has the cutest little dimples right at the base of his spine. I probably should've kept him in bed a little longer.

I spin on my heel and head for the bathroom so I can shower and get ready for the day I have planned. Turns out all the clothes in the closet and dresser are mine- Damon bought them when I was passed out. He even picked them out. Thank god I wasn't wearing clothes formerly purchased for Giuseppe's girlfriend of the month.

Once I dress in black jeans and a black tank. I leave a black hoodie and converse sneakers in the bathroom. Then I do what I did the previous days Damon went to school, and invite Mal and Santi into my room.

"Are we going to continue with that Mars show?" Mal asks, already getting comfortable on the chair by my bed.

"Sure," I reply, lying on the unmade bed.

Santi walks in with two mugs of coffee and a couple of pastries. He hands me a mug and a plate with a raspberry danish on it and sits down on a chair he brought in from the entertainment room. We watch television for an hour or so. Damon checks in on me and I send him a picture of Mal, leaning toward the television with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his knuckles— totally into the episode. I send it with the caption, _Marshmallow_.

After a couple of episodes I tell them that I'm tired and going to take a morning nap. "Do you want me to get you anything?" Santi asks.

God, they're both so nice. I feel bad for what I'm about to do. "I took some medicine this morning that made me drowsy," I lie. "I just need rest."

They both leave and the door clicks, locking me in. I do something I've never done before but have only seen in movies. I draw all the curtains and blinds, darkening the room. Then I take towels and linens from the bathroom and make it look like a body is beneath the duvet. I step back and look at my work. It won't buy me the day, but it'll buy me enough time to get to where I'm going. I sit on the edge of the bed and turn the GPS off my phone and make sure the Find My Phone app is logged out, then I turn off the phone completely. I'll text Damon when I get to where I'm going.

I go into the bathroom, slip on the Converse sneakers and the hoodie, then standing on the toilet seat, I pop the bathroom window open. The other day, I told Santi and Mal that there's a tree I can easily climb down if I want to leave. I, of course, lied. However, there is a garden trellis I can climb down. I'm going to have to jump from one point, but it's my only option. Mal and Santi are currently outside my door and don't have a view of this window.

I have to pull myself up, but I'm able to slip out the window and grab the white wooden ledge and prop my foot on the wooden rungs of the trellis. I don't have to go far before I jump to the ground. The noise of my feet hitting the ground is so loud, I worry I drew attention to myself, so I hide with my back pressed flat against the side of the house.

After a minute of no one coming to see what the noise was, I sprint on the outside of the property, across the expansive lawn, to the garage. I was planning on going into the garage from the back entrance, which is usually unlocked, but I see his Camaro parked out front. Damon must've taken the Maserati today, or one of the other fancy cars his dad has in the garage.

The hood is down, so I hop in the car, lean over and hot-wire the car, which saves me the time it'd take to find the keys. I put my phone in the cup holder and start the drive to Falls City.

I decided something yesterday. Damon and I have too many problems coming at us in several directions. I missed the Monday drop off, so I know Moretti's men are after me and possibly Damon. I need to see him so I can straighten this situation out in case they do decide to go after Damon. Dom told me that he didn't like to kidnap and he doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would act without thinking things through. He's waiting to see when I'll show up on his radar, which is exactly what I plan on doing.

I turn on the radio and listen to whatever classic rock station Damon was listening to while making the drive to Falls City. After battling rush hour traffic, I park two blocks away from the building that houses the law offices of Diego Romano and sit in the car. I turn on my phone but keep the location settings off. No text messages. Either Santi and Mal haven't figured out I left or Damon is already sending out the search party.

I put the hood covering of the car up, and get out. Damon would quite literally kill me if the car got stolen. Hopefully, this won't take long. I walk slowly toward the offices, giving security every opportunity to spot me on the camera. I then open the doors and wait in line to go through security. It's busier on a weekday. Men and women in business attire, holding fancy briefcases talk about the happy hour they plan to go to after work to celebrate the end of the workweek. When it's my turn, a woman with her hair in a French twist and a blue uniform asks for my I.D., which I don't have.

"I don't have it," I shrug.

"You don't have your I.D.?"

"Nope," I reply. "But my name is Elena Gilbert, and I have my phone, does that count?"

I know it doesn't but in about sixty seconds, someone is going to come and collect me.

The security guard gives me a scathing look, and the people behind me in line mutter remarks about being in a hurry and "_Can you believe this girl?_"

"I need to see Domenico Moretti or Diego Romano," I say. "Either fella is fine."

Thirty seconds.

"Neither work in this building," she says. "Are you sure you're at the right place?"

Ten seconds.

"Oh, yes. I'm very sure."

"Well, I can't let you through the metal detector until I see identification."

"Sheila," someone says from behind her. "We can take it from here."

Jasper. He looks…pissed isn't the right word. Murderous is more like it.

"Been demoted," I remark casually. "Again?"

Then he does something I did not expect. He walks to my side, twists me around, and hooks one of the handcuff links over my wrist. He then presses my back down, so I'm forced to lean over the conveyor belt next to the metal detector.

"Isn't that unnecessary?" Sheila says from her podium. "She's just a kid."

"She's more dangerous than she looks," Jasper replies.

"He's not wrong," I add.

He grunts, moving me to a standing position and guiding me past the security rope. "Happy Friday!" I shout at the line of people that were behind me. Some cheer, some have their phones out taking pictures of the high school girl getting taken my someone equivalent to mall security.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He grunts in response. "You're going to anyway."

"Did it feel good to snap those cuffs on my wrist? I bet you've been fantasizing about me like that for the past week. Bending me over and cuffing me while you…"

He tugs on them again so the metal bites my skin, but I don't react as he guides me to a series of elevators. He pulls me against him, so the chain of the cuffs are in one hand while he presses the elevator button with another. "You could do it you know, no one is watching."

Someone departs an elevator, I turn to the man leaving the elevator, moving my body ever so slightly— just like my uncle taught me. "Hardened criminal, right here. Looking for a good lawyer, you don't know one, do you?"

The man gives me a friendly look, and shakes his head. I twist my wrist just so and bolt to the elevator just as the doors were about to close. Holding the keys I lifted from Jasper's pocket, I unlock the cuffs. I rub my wrists before pressing the button for the eightieth floor, just as I did on Saturday. If I'm going to meet with Domenico, I'm doing it on my terms. He's either here or he'll be here and I can wait.

When I reach the floor, it's as empty as it was on Saturday. I go to the office I broke into last time, and sit in a large black leather chair and wait. I take the phone out of my pocket. No message from Damon, which means Mal and Santi probably shouldn't be in charge of watching me.

I respond to an email from my coach saying he's sorry that I've been sick but he's wondering if I'll be well enough to go to the meet tomorrow. I tell him I'll be there. Then I check social media, which I regret. The first thing I did was go on Ainsley's page and sure enough, she's posted pictures of Damon. Her sitting on his lap in the cafeteria. She's wearing a very small dance team uniform. To his credit, Damon doesn't look too happy about it. I did this. I pushed him to do this and yet I'm sick to my stomach when I see comments from other girls beneath the photo about how cute they are together.

"There is a bathroom in this office you can use if you are going to be sick," a deep and familiar voice comments.

I look up from my phone and see Domenico Moretti stand before me in all his perfect badass glory, wearing a thirty-thousand dollar Rolex and custom made suit. "I'd suggest firing Jasper, but I don't want to be responsible for someone else's death."

"He's my little sister's kid," Dom remarks.

Nepotism. "Figures."

Dom sits opposite me, which feels nice considering I'm sitting in the power chair, across the massive oak desk.

"You were not there for the delivery. Actually, none of my men have been able to find you since Saturday," he comments, like he's commenting on the weather.

"I've been busy."

"But you are here now, that is good. Very good."

"I'm not selling for you," I state, leaning over the desk and steepling my fingers.

It's not an obvious frown, but a small twitch. He's curious. "You are not?"

"Nope," I say, obnoxiously elongating out the 'o' and popping the 'p'.

He sighs, like he was hoping it wouldn't come to this, takes out his gun and places it on the table in front of him. "What makes you think you can get away with saying no to me?"

I lean back in the massive wing back leather office chair and slowly smile. "You're not going to kill me, so you can put the gun away. It's big and obnoxious, kind of like you."

He casually picks a piece of lint off the collar of his jacket and tosses it aside. "Every week, during your shift at Patty's Diner, one of my men will deliver half a kilo of coke. You will sell it for the marked price and we will pick up the cash the following week with the delivery. Your parents owe a quarter million, they now owe a half a million."

"Why?"

"Interest."

I sit up straight, with my shoulders back, and look him square in the eyes. "Except, my parents are Isabella Russo and Antonio Giovanni, but you already knew that, didn't you? You won't kill or hurt me because I'm worth more alive than dead. You need me, but you didn't realize that until Miranda Gilbert sold information on me, which is why you only recently came after me."

It came to me yesterday when I was lounging around Damon's house. Why was Dom so recently fascinated with me? How did my mom get her money? She wasn't working and yet she was able to pay some bills and keep up her own drug habit. I'm willing to bet anything she sold my information- information she'd been keeping secret for years to Dom. It explains why she skipped town and how Dom was able to get the deed to the house.

Dom's fists clench- this is the first time I've seen him lose control. "I may not be able to kill you but I can keep you at my compound until I need you."

"Then why haven't you?" I ask, almost laughing. "You need me, and having me sell drugs is child's play- a way to bring me into your fold and your debt until you can make your move."

Domenico reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, he places it on the table. "That is a key to a safety deposit box a block away from here."

My brows furrow. "What's in it?"

"Information you need. Letters from Grayson, information about you and your biological parents," Domenico explains.

I reach to take the key, but he slides it away from me. I take a deep breath. "And what do you want from me?"

He tilts his head to the side. "I am impressed, Elena."

"Thank you?"

"You figured this all out much quicker than I anticipated, but there is something you are forgetting."

I'm going toe-to-toe with a mob boss, of course I'm missing something. Of course it wasn't that easy. It was a risk I knew I was taking because either they were going to come after me and Damon or I was going to come to them before it came to that. I had no choice. I gambled coming here knowing no matter what, he wouldn't kill me. I also knew I was going in blind. I didn't know how he was going to react.

"What am I forgetting?"

"You did not grow up in this business. When you are born in it, you cannot leave unless it is in a body bag. Russo and Giovanni do not know you are alive or where you are- I make one phone call and you will be brought into the family, I will gain a valuable ally, and you will be sold off into marriage. No college dorms. No career. No freedom."

The thought is sobering.

"Why do you want me to sell for you so badly?" I ask.

"You do not have a history in the business and you do not have another agenda. I trust you and I need someone I trust to get me into Mystic Falls. You are determined and resourceful and motivated," he explains.

"Mystic Falls isn't that big of a city. It has to be small potatoes compared to New York and Los Angeles," I reply.

Dom tilts his head to the side and considers me before replying. "It is small potatoes if you are feebleminded. Mystic Falls is the closest city in Virginia located next to a port. The Feds do not know how valuable it is so they are not all over it like ones in California or New York- but the Russians do. If I can gain a foothold in Mystic Falls first, I control the port."

I was wrong about everything, so very wrong. "So you don't need me for my name."

A smirk plays on his lips and his eyes darken. "Not right now."

His gaze sends a chill to my bone. Not entirely in a bad way. I take a couple of deep breaths and think. I am the daughter of two large mob families. If they find out where I am, I'll be sold off. If I sell for Dom, he'll what…? He still hasn't said. "What's in it for me? What makes your deal better than just disappearing? Or going to New York and meeting family I never knew. They may be nice," I say with a shrug.

Dom takes out his phone, unlocks it, and lays it on the table in front of me. It's an article posted after the trial. Detailing what happened and the outcome. "I didn't know this made national news."

"Small town girl brings down local football celebrity," he mutters. "Look at the names mentioned."

My name, obviously, but also… "Salvatore."

The security video was from his party. Quotes from the previous article that was printed before the trial are quoted. Quotes from Lucinda about Giuseppe Salvatore and a girl that looked just like me running out of his office in a towel. The name isn't mentioned but I know, Domenico knows, and anyone who has the slightest familiarity with Isabella Russo's story will know. After all, Giuseppe was the one that arranged for the Gilberts to take me in.

"Right now, it is only rumors. However, one more connection and they will come for you. I will make sure they do not look this way," he holds up the security deposit box key. "I will give you information. We will start small- half a kilo, already broken up, sixty for a gram. You have the weekend to unload it."

"What if I get caught?"

"Call Diego, you still have his card, yes?"

I look into his dark brown, almost black eyes. He's so confident- so sure this is all going to work out just the way he wants. I knew I couldn't avoid him but this feels no different than being tied up in that cabin with boys in skull masks playing games. "My brother felt so guilty for being responsible for his best friend's death that he killed himself. If this is my life- selling for you, owing you, constantly fighting for some semblance of a life, you might as well take that gun and shoot me. I've been surrounded by death for the past five years. I know death well, and I am not afraid of his face."

"Which is why I need you," he says, impressed by my words. Clearly, they did not have the effect I'd hoped. "People who fear death get killed in my line of work. Selling will not be your life, I promise you that. Let us see how this weekend goes and take it from there."

Domenico starts to stand, but I stop him. "Promise me something."

"What?" He replies sharply.

"You can't touch Damon Salvatore," I state. "Don't hurt him, don't go after him, don't kill him—you or any of your people. If he dies, I go home to New York and help my dad take over Mystic Falls."

Domenico pauses, buttons up the bottom of his suit jacket, and clears his throat. "Done."

"Okay then," I reply.

Dom guides me out of the empty office floor and to the elevators. "Who taught you how to get out of cuffs? It is not a usual skill for a girl to have."

I scoff. "Kinda narrow-minded, don't you think?"

He lifts a shoulder up. "I do not know many _people_ to have that skill," he corrects.

"Better," I say, moving into the elevator car that just opened. "My Uncle John taught me."

"He is not your uncle."

"He is in the way that counts."

Dom just hums like he knows something or just realized something.

"What?" I turn to look at him but he is tall, I have to take a step back. There haven't been many occasions where we've stood side by side like this. He has to be about a foot taller than me.

"John Gilbert was mentioned in your father's letters to you."

Wait, what? "You read the letters? It's illegal to read someone else's mail."

"Not the worst illegal thing I have done."

"What did he say about Uncle John?"

"He knew about you, don't you think it is interesting that you are so resourceful?"

"That's Uncle John, I'm more surprised he isn't the Gilbert that worked for you," I say.

"He is out of the country and unreachable," he mutters. "I checked."

"My Uncle John is one of the smartest people I know. He's a ghost. No one will be able to find him unless he allows it," I explain, plus he can't enter the country without going to jail for life, or being murdered on the street by someone like the person standing next to me. Uncle John is a con artist and some of my best memories growing up were with him and Damon.

The elevator dings and we're not on the lobby like I thought we'd be. We're on floor seven- this floor looks like it's still under construction. Consequently, Dom places a yellow construction helmet on my head, not bothering with one for himself. I follow him through several drapes of tarp and into an office that looks the most complete of any room on the floor. He reaches behind the desk, opens it and hands me a backpack. The backpack looks identical to the one I used to own, but it's not.

I know because either Chase and Noah took it or it went up in flames with the cabin. Damon told me he did a thorough search of the cabin, looking for any information before setting it aflame. My computer was so old there's no way to detect where it is and my phone wasn't exactly new either. I know for a fact they can't break into either because I put up the necessary firewalls and protections after the first time my phone was stolen when Grayson was arrested. I'm honestly more pissed off that my personal files were taken, along with my identification.

"You will stay at the home I am paying for," he orders. "There is a burner phone in the bag that only has my number on it. I will contact you on Monday with more information about drop off."

"I won't do the drop off with one of your goons. If you want me to do this and help you, I'll deal with you and no one else."

"I would not have it any other way," he replies.

My eyes narrow in skepticism. "And I'll get the key to the safety deposit box."

"As promised."

I take the backpack out of his hands. "Final question."

He nods, prompting me to continue.

"You want me to help you gain traction in Mystic Falls, so what am I supposed to say, _please shop at Domenico Moretti's one stop drug shop? Location: my locker. Hours: 7:30-2:30_? Having one person sell isn't going to help, you're not the only person who sells in Mystic Falls."

"Look in the bag."

I do just that. Each small cellophane bag has a black stamp of an 'x' and a 'p' behind it. "The Chi Rho symbol?"

Dom raises his eyebrows. "Smart girl," he compliments. "Domenico is derived from the Latin word Dominicus, which means lord."

"Chi Rho is XP in Greek, which is the shortened version of Christos," I add.

"The lord and savior."

"So you're saying your God."

He chuckles. "Maybe."

I put the baggie back in the backpack and zip it up. Dom leads me to a stairwell on the opposite end of the floor, away from the elevators. It must be a fire exit. "You tell people that it is a special blend called Chirow. We are the only people in America with this high quality of a product. Once it is out on the streets, people will know."

"So happy that I get to be part of this new venture," I say, dripping with sarcasm.

"I will write you a stellar recommendation to business school."

I take off the helmet and lay it on the floor. "I'll pass."

I open the door to the stairwell and by the looks of it, Dom isn't following. "Oh, Elena."

He's is the guy that broke into my home in the early hours of the morning and threatened my life, so I shouldn't be surprised when his parting words are, "I will not hesitate to kill you, I do not care who your parents are."

I'm convinced he thinks he's telling me the truth. "Noted," I say, before running down the stairs.

By the time I'm back in Damon's car, I toss the drugs in the front seat and take a moment to breathe. This turned out better than expected. Damon's protected and I'll be able to get the information Grayson left me. The drugs, I'll figure out. I already have a reputation as a drug dealer thanks to Grayson, but I have to figure out a way to do this without exposing myself.

I check my phone and sure enough, Damon has blown it up. Dozens of text messages from him telling me to call him. I ignore my first instinct, which is to ignore his calls and decide to call him instead.

The phone barely rings before he picks it up. "Are you okay?"

I ditched the bodyguards he hired, stole his car, wearing the clothes he bought me, holding the phone he bought me and his first question is to ask if I'm okay. I feel like such shit, I almost start crying- also there's a lot of adrenalin and emotions pumping through me.

"Elena? Please, God, tell me you're okay."

I take a deep breath. "I'm fine, but I need to talk to you."

"I'll come to you."

Oh, God. "It's not Santiago or Malohi's fault I left," I explain, the guilt eating at my insides.

"I know that," Damon says like I'm acting foolish. "I told them you'd try to make a break for it, I'm more surprised it didn't happen earlier."

That's good. I didn't get two of the nicest people I've ever met fired.

"Are you still sitting in the Camaro?"

My eyes dart around where I'm parked. I see a fast-food restaurant, a coffee shop, and pedestrians, but no Damon. "Yes, how did you know that?"

"There's a tracker embedded in your phone and one in the Camaro. Neither has moved from that spot. Why do you think I left the Camaro at the mansion?"

"How did you know I'd leave?"

"You were acting weird this morning. Santiago and Malohi are sitting in the Escalade across the street in the parking lot of a burger joint."

I tilt my head and see them sitting in the front seat. Mal is eating a burger. I wave. They do not wave back. They're pissed. "How much of a head start did I get?"

"Twenty minutes, you left in the middle of my presentation in government, otherwise I would've known the moment you left the property," he remarks. "So, are you really okay?"

On one hand, tracking my phone is a complete invasion of privacy, on the other, I did steal his car and he did buy me this phone. And the last time I did this, I lost fourteen hours of my memory…among other things.

"Yeah, I mean, you're not going to like what I have to say."

"But you're telling me about it, which is progress," he pauses like he's reading something. "You're being watched. Drive three blocks north and two blocks east. Park in the Jiffy Lube parking lot. Santiago and Malohi will pick up the Camaro."

I gasp. "I'm the only one that's driven your Camaro besides you. I can't believe you're letting someone else drive it."

"I never let you, you stole it."

Oh, yeah. I start the car with a touch of a couple wires I pulled beneath the steering wheel and pull out of my spot.

"Plus now that you drove it to Falls City and parked it close to the building you just entered, it's marked," he adds. I put the cell on speaker and place it in the cupholder.

"I parked three blocks away; I'm not an amateur."

"You were distracted when you left. You walked directly to the car."

"Uncle John would be so disappointed in me," I mutter, turning right.

I'm silent while I drive until I find the Jiffy Lube parking lot.

Damon must see my location, because he says, "Walk inside, bypass the front desk. You'll see another door that leads to the garage where they change oil. Walk past it and you'll see the Maserati."

I end the phone call, grab the backpack Dom gave me and casually walk into Jiffy Lube. No one is at the front desk- probably checking on one of the cars in the garage, so I'm able to walk through the back without a problem. When I see Damon's car, I run and get into the front seat. He barely waits for me to close the door before he says, "Duck," and he speeds out of the lot and in the opposite direction of Dom's offices. I'm crouched low beneath the window for a few minutes before Damon says that I can sit up.

"Domenico isn't after me," I explain.

"He wants to know where you're at," Damon responds. "I don't want that, do you?" I shake my head in reply. "Good. Put your seatbelt on."

He's in a mood.

I put the seatbelt on and sit quietly while he drives. He doesn't even have the radio on, just concentrating on the road with his eyes flashing in the rearview mirror every few seconds. After twenty minutes of driving, he pulls into a mall parking garage. He doesn't take the first available spot, instead, he drives to the top floor and turns off the ignition. "Are you going to sit there and pout or are you going to tell me what you were up to this morning?"

I ignore him. He was the one acting like a moody teenager. "Why are we in a mall parking lot?"

"Don't want to go directly home, thought we'd hang out here for a couple of hours."

I unbuckle the seatbelt and turn slightly so I can face Damon. "I knew if I missed the drop off on Monday, Domenico Moretti would be after me and I'd never been able to leave the mansion without fear of getting picked up, so I went to him."

"Santiago and Malohi are assigned to protect you for a reason."

"It doesn't matter. Dom is smart; I wouldn't be surprised if he was able to pull me from school."

"I would've been there at school with you," he argues.

"Damon, you're not a powerful mob boss and Domenico won't hurt me."

"What makes you think that?"

I take a deep breath and explain my guess that Miranda sold information about me to Domenico and that he knows who I am. Damon curses but asks me to start from the beginning- the beginning beginning. So I explain how I left the pool house and how I got in to see Domenico. I relay the information I learned about my birth parents, and the security box key, and then I tell him about the drugs. Damon offers to just buy them, but when I explain what Dom is trying to and why he's using me, Damon doesn't seem convinced.

"Why you? He could use anyone to get his product into Mystic Falls," Damon argues.

"He has something bigger planned," I tell him. "I know that. He's killing two birds with one stone- I get his product into Mystic Falls and he gets to control me until he needs me for whatever is coming and I'm stuck. If I go to the Giovanni's, they sell me off into marriage. Domenico has the resources to find me if I run and he has government agents in his pocket. If I sell for him, at least I can get information I need and I can buy myself time to figure it out."

"You could just stay at the mansion with Santi and Mal," Damon suggests, but I don't think he's serious.

"Another prison," I mutter. Damon takes my hand in his and squeezes. "I have an idea, though."

He moves his chair back. "I'm not ready to hear it, yet," he tugs me over the consul so I'm straddling his lap, facing him. His fingers brush a lock of hair from my eyes and tucks it behind my ear, his eyes lazily wandering my face until I have his full attention. "Okay, now tell me."

"Are you still having your party tonight at the warehouse?"

He nods, running his hands down my spine and pulling me closer.

"Are you still taking Ainsley?"

Damon scowls, but continues ministrations, running his knuckles in long lines down my spine.

I'll take that as a yes.

"I can easily unload the product at your party."

His hands pause at my hips and dip into my hoodie underneath my tank. "You're not going to my party."

I lean in closer and rest my hands on his broad, muscular shoulders. "I know I'm not."

Damon tilts his head to the side, his eyes land on my lips. "Then what's your plan?"

"To go as someone else."

Damon hums deeply while his fingers score the bare skin of my back. "Then it's a good thing we're at the mall."

A moan escapes my lips, damn that feels good. "Why are you being so understanding?"

"Because I trust you."

Damon's continued massage has me rocking my hips back and forth in small circles. My head drops and rests on his forehead. "What are you doing to me?"

It's a whisper and a questioning plea. I didn't expect this interaction to go this way at all. I expected him to yell at me and drop me off on the side of the road.

Damon's lips hover over mine, tickling the bow of my lips. "Loving you."

My lips meet his the rest of the way, trying to communicate words I don't dare speak. A flush of heat crawls up my chest to my cheeks as his lips mark me- scoring my jaw, my neck, both cheeks, my forehead, and then my lips. His eyes smolder when they look at me and it takes my breath away. So much is said with that look and I didn't understand what I did to deserve it. He should hate me and yet, his eyes say the opposite. His mouth lands on mine again, claiming me exactly how I want. I feel…cherished and I don't understand what to make of it.

Damon helps me strip off the hoodie and lays it on the passenger seat. He's lazy sitting there, with his back against the seat while his hands memorize my body, slowly grazing up my arms, my shoulders, dancing along my neck, and then down my back.

His hand tugs on my ponytail, taking out the elastic. "I want to see you like this," he says, fanning my long hair over my breasts. "At the end of the day, in English, you take your hair down when your elastic gives you a headache. You tie it around your wrist," Damon takes the elastic and puts it on my wrist. "And your hair fans out as you lean over your notebook, taking notes or doodling those flowers with vines going up the columns of the pages. And I just want to…." His fingers dance on my neck and he pulls me to him again. We're kissing, lazily like we have all the time in the world. His tongue slips in my mouth and slides against mine. He swallows my moans, deepening our kiss until we're both so needy, his hands have pushed my tank up.

My hand reaches for his hard length, rubbing him through his jeans. "I want to feel you."

Damon's head falls back and he groans and it is the sexiest sound I've ever heard. Prompted, I unbutton the silver clasp of his jeans. With my left hand, I caress the back of his neck, while my right slips beneath his jeans. "You go commando?"

Another groan, his lips meet mine and from my position above him, I run my hand along his white-hot length and graze the tip. Another groan, he likes that. With thighs spread, I rock with the motion of my pumping.

"You like thinking people are watching, don't you?" Damon whispers in my ear, his hand unbuttoning my own jeans. "You like people knowing there's more to you than cross country running valedictorian."

My head falls against his forehead. "You go commando?" He says back to me.

"You.." I gasp when his deft fingers run down my slit. He swallows my gasp with his lips, once again on mine, devouring me while I run my hand up and down his thick cock and one of his pushes my jeans down slightly while the other swirls around my clit. "…didn't," another gasp as one of his fingers enters me. "…buy me any."

"That was convenient of me."

My lips are on his neck while I continue to lazily pump his cock. "Good thing we're at the mall."

"I'm going to come," Damon warns.

I stop and press a button on the side of the seat to move it back further. I duck down and wrap my lips around his length. I've never done this before, so I don't know if I'm doing it right but by the sounds of his groans, I know I'm not doing it wrong. I lick the underside of his cock and then wrap my lips back around his length. Damon's hands run through my hair encouragingly. I feel him tighten and then come shoots down my throat. It's not as unpleasant as I thought, and I think I actually enjoy the power I had over him in that moment.

Damon lifts me up. "Come here," he mutters, kissing my lips, tasting himself on me. His hands go back to my slit. It doesn't take much to set me off as his index finger swirls around my clit and then presses slightly. "Fuck," I gasp, feeling every fiber of my being come undone. I lean towards him to increase the pressure. "More," I mutter.

Damon inserts two fingers in me while his thumb pressed against my clit. "Ride my hand, baby."

I rock my hips in circular motions until I come with a scream. Damon takes his hand out and licks his fingers. I grab his hand and run my mouth along his index finger much like I did his cock moments before. "Christ," he groans. I don't mind the taste of myself on him- I think part of me might love it.

I kiss his lips once more, feeding him my tongue. Both of our shirts are partially off as we continue to ride out our orgasms. When my heart rate has slowed, I chastely kiss his lips and slide off of him back in the passenger seat. Damon tucks his member back in his jeans while I pull my shirt down and button my own jeans. I look around the parking lot, there aren't many cars since we're on the top floor, but still.

"Are you ready to become someone else?" He asks, wearing a smirk that makes me want to take his jeans off and do bad things.

I wiggle my eyebrows. "Hell, yeah."


	20. Chapter 20

Author's note: In my many years of being alive, I have been blackout drunk once. To this day, I cannot remember what happened that night, and that feeling of not knowing is scary as fuck. When I wrote Elena's experience at the cabin, I used my experience of being so drunk I couldn't remember 10 hours of my life. It's scary and also empowering because if you don't remember, it didn't happen, right? Elena comments on this a lot in this chapter, but I hope you, as a reader, understand that when you blackout it's like missing time. It's horrible. Anyways, thank you for reading my fic. I have so much fun writing this story. Thank you for the reviews- they mean the world and usually make my day brighter.

Chapter 20

Damon and I wasted time at the mall while waiting for Dom to lose my trail. When I told Damon that Dom expected me to stay in my house on the South Side, he called one of the strippers that used to work for his parties. She's taller than me, but we both have long brown hair and she gladly obliged- happy to get away from her asshole boyfriend. So Valentina is currently playing Elena Gilbert on the South Side. That took care of that problem. Damon has people watching his property around the clock. There's a reason we've been staying in his pool house, behind the main one, primarily for the extra barrier of protection.

However, we decided to stay at a hotel within walking distance of the warehouse. I can't get drunk because of my meet the next morning, and Damon has the alcohol tolerance of a KGB agent, but convenience won out. Being so close the party was a plus, but it's also equidistant to tomorrow's meet- which is in a neighboring district.

For the purposes of our mission, Damon left a couple of hours ago to make sure the party was set up properly. He had to instruct the bouncers of where to go, the strippers of where to dance and help with the D.J. set up and electronics. Not to mention, the open bar, which was fully stocked. Damon usually likes to make money off his parties, and this one certainly seems like it'd bring in enough to buy another Camaro for him to rebuild. He's charging a cover, but that's it. Maybe to help me out? More money for teenagers to buy Chirow?

I made sure Damon wouldn't know what I looked like. I didn't let him see what I picked out to wear because I knew that when it came down to it if Damon saw me selling he'd try to stop me.

I'm in the suite getting ready. I found a deep red wig with long waves and decided to call myself Scarlett Romanoff. I'm a fan of Marvel movies and this was the first name that I came up with that didn't make me sound like a stripper. The wig was surprisingly expensive and the least trashy of the ones we found. I think Damon preferred the short pink wig. In the end, he doesn't know what I chose because I refused to show him.

While I forced Damon to get us food, I found a black leather mini cargo skirt, with plenty of pockets, and a black long-sleeved crop top that crossed in the middle. I wore it with platform military lace-up boots, for comfort.

I was planning on just carrying around the backpack Dom gave me, but while I was shopping for a wig and clothes, Damon got me a designer mini backpack. He gave me the backpack at lunch, and honestly, part of me suspected he slipped a tracker in the lining of the backpack- but I didn't really care. The bag is cute too, too bad the purposes in which I'm using it for will forever taint it.

Damon ate a burger while I ate cheese fries and drank soda. "In order for this to work toward our advantage, you need to sell to Chase, Noah, and Frederick without getting recognized."

"I know," I replied, dunking a cheese fry in ranch dressing.

"They'll know it's you, Elena," Damon observed.

"Trust me, Damon," I say. "They'll see fake hair and boobs."

He shrugged his shoulders. "If you get into trouble…"

"Scream at the top of my lungs or text you."

"Why do I have a bad feeling about tonight?" He asked, more to himself than to me.

I sighed and moved to sit on his lap so I could lean on his shoulder. "Because bad things usually happen to us."

He lightly kissed my lips. "Please don't come tonight. I can have other people sell for you."

I took another fry, dunked it in ranch, and ate it. "I don't trust anyone else, and Domenico would know. Remember, Damon, you hate me. I'm not at that party- Scarlett Romanoff is."

As I leaned on his chest, I could feel his deep chuckle. "Scarlett Romanoff? Are you an Avenger too?"

"Uh-huh," I muttered. "And later, I might let you play with Scarlett."

"Hmmm," he kisses my bottom lip sweetly. "Might take you up on that."

I know Damon doesn't like the idea of me being there with Chase, Noah, and Frederick, but if I unload all the Chirow there, I won't have to worry about it the rest of the weekend. I mean, if worse comes to worst, I could sell to athletes at other schools tomorrow morning, but I'd rather not have to resort to selling drugs to athletes- I felt bad enough as it is.

I lean toward the mirror at the hotel, checking my eye makeup. I applied copious amounts of charcoal eyeliner and jet black mascara, giving my eyes a smokey effect. With the wig and the outfit, I look like a high-class hooker about to attend Comic-Con.

I lean close to the bathroom mirror and apply a neutral pink lipstick. I pop my lips and clean up my application job with my index finger then cap the lid and put it in the purse Damon bought me.

The moment I open the purse, I curse.

Really filthy language escapes my lips because I am in an absolute rage. About two-thirds of the drugs Domenico gave me are gone and replaced with an envelope of cash. I open the envelope and check, but I have no doubt Damon left me more than enough to cover the drugs he took.

I knew he'd do this. I'm surprised he left me any to sell. I'm not dying to be a drug dealer. This wasn't my life's ambition and the moment I find a way out, I'm taking it. My job got a lot easier, but I didn't want to involve Damon. I told him because I needed support, I didn't want him to buy my problem.

When I put the thick envelope of money back, I see a small pink can of mace. _This_ is being supportive. This is saying, I trust you, and here's something to help you in your endeavor.

I take one last look at myself before I leave the suite- yup, I do not look like Elena Gilbert. The stress of the past couple of weeks has taken its toll on my weight. The skirt is a full size down from where I'm normally at, but thanks to running, my legs are lean and still have lines of muscle. I twist the side. Deep red hair that falls to my ass, smokey eyes, a stretchy crop top, mini skirt, and boots that will hurt when I stick it up Damon's ass. I'm ready.

With my mini backpack slung over both shoulders, I leave the suite Damon booked us and head for the elevators. My stomach is in knots. Damon and I tried to run through what I'd say at the party to potential customers- he had plenty of advice on the subject. I try to pretend that I'm acting- that I'm on the stage playing a part. I am not Elena Gilbert, I'm Scarlett Romanoff, badass, female entrepreneur.

Once I leave the hotel, I walk about a mile down the road to the warehouse. The warehouse was once a textile factory that went out of business long ago. Because it's located on a large plot of land, a lot of people rent it out for parties. The interior is completely vacant and can be used for any event. The steel beams and old windows give it a unique feel. Damon's never used this property before because it's not located far enough away from Mystic Falls. He told me over lunch as he showed me pictures of the property that when he doesn't do a party at the Salvatore mansion, he does them at an abandoned factory on property his Dad owns. Giuseppe _does_ own most of Mystic Falls, he even owns the hotel we're currently staying in.

Per Damon's suggestion, I arrived late. The parking lot is so full, that cars are parked on the lawn and up and down the street. I pay the cover to a bouncer who places the money I gave him in a black lockbox and walk into the party. The party is massive- the size of four school basketball courts. It's dark except for white lights strung around the steel beams. Loud remixes with a beat played over the sound system, while people dance. A DJ wearing headphones over a baseball cap is illuminated in purple, standing on a platform stage. Dancers in scantily clad clothing, spin, and twist to the music on raised platforms. Velvet drapes divide areas of the party. There's a gaming area, a bar, and an area to lounge.

I make my way into the party, dancing as I go- trying hard to not be me. "I like your boots," a familiar voice from behind me says. I spin around and sure enough, it's Rafe, back from California.

"Thank you!" I shout over the music, wanting to leave his presence as quickly as possible after the _many_ text messages he sent me.

He grabs hold of my upper arm and leans toward me. I expect him to comment on California or the things he texted. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Is he joking?

"No," I lie.

"I'm not either," he says. "Name is Rafe; I'm from California and rowed crew for my old school."

Clearly, he's not joking. He lists his qualities like he's reciting his resume.

"I could take you some time. With your arms," he squeezes my bicep. "I think you'd be really good and we'd have fun."

I cannot believe I fell for this guy…well not really fell, but I can't believe I went on a date with him. He kissed me. We worked together. We went on the date he's describing. He said he was in love with me. But he doesn't recognize me with a wig on. I decide to use this opportunity to my advantage.

"Why not have fun now?"

No wonder he can't recognize me, he hasn't looked away from my boobs. I release myself from his grip and lean into his ear. "It's fun to forget who we are, right? You're not the guy from California and I'm not a competitive athlete. Even just for a night."

He nods in understanding. Around us, people are drinking and laughing, yet somehow, Rafe's face turns somber like what I said really resonated him. The asshat.

"There's so much pressure to be perfect."

I reach into the pocket of my skirt and pull out cellophane with the XP symbol on it and place it in the palm of his hand. "Chirow will blow your mind," I say in my most seductive voice. "It's okay to not be perfect sometimes."

He opens his palm, his eyes widen. I can tell by his expression that he's not a stranger to the white powder. "Can I get a couple more bags?"

I tell him the price and he hands me cash. We're not in the middle of everything, but we're in a location where people can see that I'm the person to go to.

I place the cash in my bag. Rafe points to a deep purple chaise lounge with an acrylic side table next to it. An empty class with a lime at the bottom indicates someone just left the spot. "Will you do a line with me?"

I shake my head. "I don't mix business with pleasure, but maybe some other time," I say with a wink.

It's been ten minutes and I already want to take a shower. Kate and Jessica standing in a corner with drinks in hand. I find a guy I don't recognize that's standing near them. From the way he's standing, he's trying to get their attention, but they're oblivious. He must be an underclassman. Actually…I look around the area of the party I'm at, there are a lot of underclassmen here. It looks like almost the whole school is here- and schools from neighboring towns.

I move toward the sophomore and make a deal of sweeping my hair over my shoulders before opening my bag when I drop my phone that's sitting in the front pocket. It falls at the sophomore's feet. He takes a look at me, picks up the phone and hands it to me. "Oh my God, how foolish of me! Bless your heart."

Where the fuck did the thick southern accent come from?

I go with it- it does do the trick of getting Kate and Jessica's attention.

"Who are you?" Kate asks, giving me a long look. "I haven't seen you at one of these parties before."

The sophomore seems to take the hint and moves to a different group of people. I move closer so it's just Jessica, Kate, and myself standing in a corner. "Just moved to Falls City but heard about this party from a cousin. It sure is big."

Once again, where does this accent come from?

"You go to Falls City High School? They're cheerleading team is phenomenal," Kate gushes. "Oh my God, I love your bag."

I smile silkily. These girls wanted to get me out of Mystic Falls— they drew on a blow-up sex doll version of me. I have no problem taking advantage of their stupidity. "You know what helped us in competitions?"

"What?" Jessica asks, interested.

I remove one of the straps of my backpack from my shoulder and open the bag. I show her the cellophane bag with the XP on it. "It's called Chirow and it gave me so much energy and pep before our competitions," I explain. Jessica's eyes widen. "So much pep that I had to blow off steam the night before the competition if you know what I mean."

I don't know what I mean. I just want to unload my product.

"Who did you blow?" She whispers conspiratorially.

I look around the room. "Do you know Chase Worthington and Noah Scott?"

She nods vigorously, her curly blond hair bouncing with every nod. I shrug in reply with a wink. I sell both Jessica and Kate a few bags of Chirow each and give them the number of my burner phone in case they ever need more.

I pretend to see a friend by waving to someone who is not a friend so I can excuse myself to leave. Thanks to Kate's big mouth, people find me and within the next half hour, I'm able to sell over a third of my stash. I'm confronted by a large kid with orange crumbs all down his front. He's holding a gaming controller in one hand and his friends sitting on the couch facing a large flatscreen are cursing at him for stepping away. "Do you have that stuff with the X and P on it?"

My brows furrow. "How old are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"I have what you want, so yes, it does matter if you want what I'm selling."

"Eighteen," he lies.

I laugh and start to walk away. Those are the rosy baby cheeks of a freshman. Damon really did invite everyone.

"No, wait!" He yells after me. "I'll pay whatever."

That gets my attention.

I walk back toward him. "Answer me honestly, and I'll consider selling to you."

He nods, eager to get something that'll give him enough energy to stay up past his bedtime.

"How did you hear about the party?"

He frowns like he wasn't expecting that question. "Word of mouth and text messages. It was all over school."

"Who's running the party?"

The kid shrugs. "Dunno, just heard there was going to be an awesome party with free booze, in a warehouse off the freeway."

He tugs at his jeans, pulling them up over his belly. "Where do you go to school?"

"St. James' Episcopal School in Richmond."

Huh.

I turn to leave the area and get a drink.

"Wait, aren't you going to sell to me?"

"Nope!"

I hear a loud groan and a swear word but I don't care. Sell to cheerleaders that actively planned my demise, sure. Sell to a cute little Freshy? No- I can't rationalize that.

I'm walking along the perimeter of the party, deciding where to go next after I get a drink and pause, seeing something I knew I might see but was hoping I wouldn't. Ainsley is hanging on Damon's shoulder while Damon talks to Chase.

I know I shouldn't.

I know it's stupid.

I know I pushed him to do this, but the moment I see Ainsley kiss Damon on the cheek and rest her head on his shoulder, I see red.

I can't let Damon see me, but I can do other things.

I move closer so I can listen in on their conversation. "You couldn't play in the game tonight?" Damon asks, good-naturedly. "MFHS lost- I had money on that game."

Chase punches Damon in the shoulder. "Sorry, me getting kicked off the team lost you money."

"Oh, I still made money," Damon laughs.

I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a laugh. Only Damon would bet against Mystic Falls High School.

"If Elena Gilbert hadn't gotten me kicked off the team, we would've won."

"Ugh," Ainsley groans. "She's such a know-it-all, bitch. No wonder she doesn't have any friends."

I've….heard worse. Much worse.

"To be fair, she does know it all," Damon says. "She _is_ valedictorian and happens to have the highest SAT score of anyone in the last twenty years graduating from Mystic Falls High School."

Ainsley attempts to get Damon to be more physically attentive, but he easily brushes her off. "How do you know that?"

"I know things."

Chase takes a drink of the clear liquid in his glass. "Damon's tortured her since we were Freshman. Know thine enemy, am I right?"

Damon's eyes fix on something beyond Chase, toward the front entrance. He looks at his watch, and then, like nothing happened, mutters and agreement to what Chase said.

I need a drink.

I walk back toward the bar and order a gin and tonic. I lean against the bar, squeeze the lime wedge into my drink, and take a sip while scanning the room. I could go to the dance floor and find a few customers; I could play pool or darts and get some business from the group that's hanging out over there. But I really want to just sell my stash so I can leave.

I'm looking for a specific group of people. I can unload the rest of the product if I find out where these people are. Based on word of mouth, I'm able to sell four more grams until I find Ford.

Ford is my in.

I seductively gaze at his large form, defined by hours of football practice. "So how does it feel to literally have to carry the team on your back?" I ask, referring to the fact that he's the best player on the football team since Chase and Noah got kicked off.

He regards me with heated interest and shrugs good-naturedly. "Some girl makes claims and my friend has to suffer the consequences."

Yeah, I don't feel bad about this at all.

"Ever since the hashtag me-too movement, girls just think they can accuse anybody of anything," I mutter, faking disgust. "If we're all equal, we should all be put under the same scrutiny."

Ford points at me like I'm the chosen one. "Yes, exactly!"

He guides me to a secluded lounge area, complete with deep, plush couches and an acrylic table in the middle. I go further, digging into everything I don't believe. "Just because a guy is accused of sexual assault, doesn't mean it happened. If the girl wants it, the guy just knows. Sometimes non-verbal communication is easy to pass off as not communication. Consent doesn't have to be verbalized."

Ford looks like he found a unicorn among a sea of sea-horses. He pulls Noah and Chase before me.

Jackpot.

"Listen to this girl, Noah," Ford says. "She's like an all-knowing, red-headed wizard."

I wiggle my eyebrows. "That's me, the Ariel of the Underworld."

They all laugh— and fucking none of them recognize me.

None of them.

Ford pulls me next to him and wraps his arm over my shoulders like I'm a pot of gold he just discovered. "Say to them what you said to me…what's your name?"

"Scarlett," I reply. "I was saying that just because a girl accuses a guy of wrongdoing, doesn't mean it's true. So often we encounter girls who 'say' something happened when really they're just wanting attention. These people want equal rights, well they should look in the mirror and remember that equal rights apply to all situations."

Yes, I feel sick for what I'm implying, but my actions will prove otherwise.

Noah nods in agreement from the couch, but he looks somber.

"My boy Noah is pissed because he couldn't play tonight," Ford explains.

"You know…" I add. "If you ever feel down, I have something that will make you feel so fucking good- you'll forget about all of your troubles."

"Where are you from?" Chase asks, genuinely curious, sitting next to Noah on the couch.

I'm honest because I need him to believe at least part of what I'm selling. "New York."

Technically, I know I'm right. It doesn't stop me from using it to my advantage.

Ford sits on the couch opposite Chase and Noah and pulls me next to him. I take a bag of Chirow out of the pocket of my skirt. "Keys?"

Ford takes the car keys out of his pocket. I dip the key into the product and bring it up for him to try. He inhales and wipes his nose. "Holy fuck!"

"Right?"

I offer Chase the bag and he too dips his key in and inhales.

"How much do you have?"

"I'll sell you an eight ball," I reply. "I'm around if you ever need me."

He grins the asshole. Chase buys four grams, which is about an eight ball. Noah and Ford also buy a few grams each. They're so busy mixing coke with alcohol, I leave the moment strippers come over to entertain them.

I take a break by the pool table and play a round with someone from St. James'. It's nice to know that this person who's wearing a very nice leather jacket and has a full sleeve of tattoos, has no clue who I am. I can make anything up about myself. With Jessica and Kate, I was a southern cheerleader. With Chase and his group of assholes, I'm an ignorant set of boobs, and to these guys, I'm playing with, I am Scarlett, a professional snowboarder who goes to school in the summer because all my competitions take place during the winter season. I am fun and flirty and so not myself. After a round, I leave the area, much to Owen's chagrin, who invites me to a bar on the other side of Falls City. I wiggle my eyebrows and pretend to consider before walking away like I'm walking down a catwalk.

I continue to make my way through the party until I feel a hand at my waist. "If I knew you were going to buy this wig, I would've never let you leave the hotel."

I spin around, feeling Damon's warm sure hands on my hips, caging me in. "You took a very large portion of my product."

He doesn't look the least bit offended or intimidated. "I paid an incredibly fair price for it."

I raise my eyebrows. "While undermining someone you claim to care about and trust."

Damon does that thing with his eyes that causes me to melt beneath his smoldering gaze- he's looking at me as though I'm the only persons within a thousand-mile radius, and yet, I want to knee him in the balls. If explained my internal conflict out-loud, I honestly think he'd understand.

"You know, there are rooms I can take you to," he mutters, leaning into my neck. "We could distract each other for the next hour and a half."

Damon's hands dip beneath my crop top. "I'm only worth ninety minutes?"

Damon pushes me against a nearby pillar, blocking me from the view of everyone else at the party. "You and I both know I'd spend a lot longer than ninety minutes on you."

"However."

"However, I need you to do me a favor."

I look up at him and without a seconds hesitation utter. "What?"

"It's not going to be easy," he huffs.

"I don't care— what is it?"

He sighs, caressing my sides with each breath. "I need you to get Noah, Chase, Frederick, and Ford's car keys."

I smirk and wiggle my eyebrows. "Done."

Damon's eyes widen in surprise, I can tell by his reaction that he didn't intend to involve me, but I'm grateful he did. Damon flips me around while holding my waist. I press my palms against the pillar for support. "How many grams do you need to sell?" He whispers from behind me.

"Eighty."

I feel the absence of his warmth as he takes a step back. "Quite impressive for someone who's been here for less than an hour."

I turn into him and let him press his lips to mine. "You could fuck me against this wall and I wouldn't protest."

Damon groans, like it pains him to let me go. He lazily runs fingers through my hair. "Can you get the keys?"

I frown, he knows me better than that. "In five minutes flat."

"Elena," he groans.

"Time me," I mutter. "You know how competitive I am."

"Except you aren't competing with anyone."

I reach into my backpack and pull out thirty grams of coke. "I can unload this, get Noah, Chase, Fred, and Ford's keys within the next ten minutes."

I hike my skirt up and walk back to where the assholes were sitting like I own the place. Noah, Chase, and someone I don't recognize is sitting on a large, kidney-shaped couch with a clear acrylic coffee table in front of them. Ford is sitting in a deep purple chair across from them. The only person that's missing is Frederick. I don't know where he is, but I'm sure he'll show in a few minutes. Instead of walking directly to them, I accidentally bump into the girl hanging beside Ford's chair and fall on him. I try to stand, but trip again. "I am so sorry," I proclaim. "I think I've had one too many of those Jolly Rancher shots. Have y'all tried them? They are so so yummy."

I sit up on Ford's lap but move to the coffee table. I sit in the middle, knocking a couple of bottles of beer on the floor and wiping off the coke before I sit. "Hey!" Noah yells, seeing his precious powder fall to the ground.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry. I thought that was dirt."

"You just sold me that!"  
"I know and I feel so bad about that," I explain as sweetly as possible. "Why don't I make it up to you?"

He looks doubtful until I open up my pocket and pull out three bags. I toss one to Chase and one to Ford. Then I lean back and take the third and pour it in a line over my exposed belly. My backpack digs into my back as I lay down, but I don't dare take it off. "This one's for you," I say, pointing my index finger at the line I formed on my stomach.

Noah's smile grows, he moves from the couch and crouches down next to me. With a smirk at his friends, he leans down and inhales the line I made for him. When he's done, I reach out my arm and he pulls me up. "Whoa! Head rush!"

I plop down next to Chase on the couch. I lean over and take the beer he's holding in his other hand. Grinning, I take a drink, and then point the mouth of the bottle at Chase. "You're Chase Worthington," I twist around and point the bottle at Noah. "And you're Noah Scott." I then point the bottle at Ford. "And you're forced to carry the team because these two got in trouble for acting like men."

"See? She gets it!"

I shrug and lean over so I can place my hand on Chase's chest. "How the fuck can anyone say no to this?"

Then I lean over Noah and run my hands down his chest. The move makes me want to vomit. "Or no to this?"

Then I lean back and pout. "I have to get back to work, fellas," I say, pretending to make an effort to stand.

Chase pulls me back. "Ford, text the rest of the team."

I look at my watch- I have four minutes left but decide to wait, curious. "Fred's parents involved the police yesterday," Chase mutters to Noah while we're waiting. "They need to collect insurance. There's an investigation and everything."

"Fuck," Noah says, rubbing his face.

"What happened?" I ask.

"Someone burned down our friend's hunting cabin."

I place my hands over my mouth in shock. "That's awful."

There's a short pause in the conversation before I have to ask. "But why are you acting like it's bad they reported to the police? Shouldn't they be brought to justice?"

"We were there hours before," Chase explains conspiratorially. "And we'd rather people didn't know what happened there."

Me. He's talking about what they did to me. I close my eyes and try to disguise the cold shudder that runs down my spine. Thankfully, football players arrive. There's so much male ego around me, I feel claustrophobic. I'm about to ask for a paper bag to breathe in when Noah and Chase talk up the product I'm selling.

I don't remember what Frederick looks like, having blacked out my experience with him, but he might as well be wearing a name tag because he is how everyone has described. An entitled dick. "Can I do it off you?" He asks after we exchange goods for money. "I hear it tastes much sweeter coming from your body."

Damon owes me— huge.

I tilt my head to the side and suck on my lower lip, popping it out seductively. My eyes slowly track his sneakers, to his ugly as fuck Wranglers, to the Timberwolf football jersey, to his floppy child of corn blonde hair. He's broad but not tall and looks every bit the Sophomore. "You can't handle me."

He takes a step forward. I play with the hem of his jersey. "I don't play with junior varsity players. They're the babies of high school football. I doubt your balls have dropped."

My head cocks to the side, observing everyone's reaction. They groan at my insult but no one is trying to stop me.

"Plus I heard you bought your way onto the team. Did you pay extra for the jersey?"

Hoots and hollers echo throughout our area. Frederick pushes me onto the couch, but unable to take any more bullshit, I pop back up and stand right in front of Freddy. "What are you going to do, whore?" He spits.

Clever.

I do a move that only Damon would appreciate.

I tilt my head to the side, place one and on his right shoulder and one on his left. I lean in and whisper loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Bench you."

Then I knee him in the balls- hard. He falls to the couch he pushed me on.

I know JV players are used to a level of razzing, so other players cheer me on. I walk away with the wave of my fingers, unbothered by the comments from people who do not think what I did was deserved.

Damon finds me within seconds and pulls me into an area where we're secluded behind black velvet curtains. Before he can say anything, I reach into the pockets on my skirt and pull out four sets of keys. "How long was I?"

"Twelve minutes," he mutter, taking the keys from my hand.

"Liar."

He smirks, hiding how long I was really gone.

I feel defensive. I haven't lost my touch. "I would've been faster if I didn't sell everything. There was a line, I had to get change- it was a whole thing. A junior tried to pay in quarters."

Damon's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Don't be too good at your job or Moretti will never let you go."

There are unspoken words there- like the fact that he'll probably never let me go unless we figure out a way to get out.

"What now?"

Damon puts the keys in his pockets. "Keep an eye on them- text me if anyone leaves."

"Done."

He takes a deep breath like he's preparing for battle, and maybe he is for all I know and leans over to kiss me on the cheek. "Keep the mace in one of your skirt pockets. Just in case."

Maybe we're both preparing for battle.

Then he's gone, so fast that for a second, I doubt he was ever here. I make sure they stay where they're at by sending strippers over to their table with more beer.

After a half an hour, Damon finds me and gives me the keys. "Need me to return them?"

I look at the keys, trying to remember who belongs to whom. "We're going to do the Bel Air Sunrise."

"An oldie but a goodie," Damon says, texting the D.J. to play a remix of _Summertime_ by The Fresh Prince and D.J. Jazzy Jeff.

As Uncle John taught me, this move works on any Will Smith song that was released in the summer. The music comes on and everyone screams. I stride back over to the group and dance on the clear acrylic table. "I love this song!"

I dance and sing with my arms up in the air, getting Noah and Chase to dance and sing with me, then about halfway through the song, I fall into Ford, who stumbles into Frederick. I straighten and laugh. "You're like a puppy," I giggle, leaning in and patting Frederick on the cheek.

Annoyed, Frederick pushes me and I stumble until Chase picks me up by my armpits. "I think you've had too much to drink."

I bounce away from him, singing. "Never!" At the top of my lungs. "Jolly Ranchers for all!" I say with a wave of my hand like I'm Oprah. "You get a shot! You get a shot! You get a shot! You're all getting SHOTS!"

I dance around other players, shaking my hips, moving away from the football players.

_Miami_ comes on and everyone cheers. It's the result of playing two beloved party songs by the same artist. A bit of nostalgia works every time.

I easily get lost in the crowd and find Damon where I left him. I wiggle my empty fingers to show I returned all of them, but do it in a way to convince him to dance with me. He clasps my hands and we move to the music. Damon's secret is that he loves to dance- it's an unspoken secret between us because he's known for spending parties sitting sullenly in a corner, running the event like a king in a medieval court. I know better- you can't have moves like that and not love to dance.

The moment the song ends, I hear explosions coming from two locations. One sounds like pops in the air on the fourth of July. The other- an actual explosion. At first, people scream and a few go to the exit, but the DJ announces a surprise fireworks display in the back of the building. Unable to resist pretty fire in the sky, most everyone drunkenly moves to the back to watch.

Damon holds me tight, preventing me from going toward the firework display. That's when I hear it- another explosion. This one coming from the parking lot. Sirens sound in the distance, but you wouldn't know it with the firework display going on.

"Have you had anything?"

"Just a beer and a gin and tonic."

"Come here," he says, leading me to a side room. It looks like a break room with lockers and a coffee machine. Damon pours me a cup and instructs me to drink it as fast as possible.

"Are you sure you sold everything?"

I search my pockets and my purse. "Yeah, it's all gone. What's going on?

"You'll see."

The sounds of sirens coming closer and closer.

"I'm not going to have to bail you out of jail, am I?"

Damon scoffs. "You know me better than that."

"Cops are coming and you're just standing here- Damon you could get in serious trouble. There are underage kids drinking and doing drugs- drugs I sold them," I might be panicking.

"Who do you think called them?"

I'm left in confusion as Damon moves to a window and peers out.

And then, it happens.

Cops in blue uniforms burst into the warehouse from the parking lot.

Damon and I move out of the break room and into the main room, hidden by one of the many curtains that drape the walls.

The cop looks around the warehouse. "Who's in charge of this party?"

The only people left are people hired to work for the party. "Noah Scott," the bouncer proclaims.

"Where is he?"

"In the back," one of the strippers say. The fireworks have stopped so people who haven't replied to what's going on, come back into the party. A few ask why the music has stopped. One person is very angry that his bong was destroyed in the panic. More cops swarm in from the front entrance and arrest people who lingered and were too drunk to run- but something tells me that's what Damon wanted.

"Come on," Damon whispers in my ear. "You're not going to want to miss this."

With his hand firmly clasped in mine, he guides me to the parking lot. We stand with a gathering crowd. Firemen have already started extinguishing a burning car- which explains the explosion we heard earlier.

Kate runs out screaming. "That's my car!" She crumples to her knees in the middle of the lot, crying. "My parents are going to kill me."

I lean into Damon, chuckling.

"Is Chase Worthington here?" One of the cops asks.

People who haven't been arrested or are currently being hauled out in cuffs have started moving away from the fireworks display to outside. They're gathering around Kate's burning car while cops investigate.

Chase walks out, looking confused as ever. "What's going on?"

The cop takes out a piece of paper. "We came with a warrant to search your car- please open it for us."

Chase shrugs, like he has nothing to hide, reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys.

"Earlier this morning, the department was tipped off that a Chase Worthington is responsible for the fire on the Elmwood estate," The officer explains.

"I didn't do anything!"

Chase looks as though he's going to protest, but the officer pops open the trunk of his car. Inside are empty bottles of liquid fire, three rifles that could only be taken from a hunting lodge, a shirt with black smudges, and a hoodie I recognize. I look up at Damon, who winks. The officer takes out his cuffs. "Chase Worthington, you are arrested for committing arson…" He continues to read Chase his Miranda Rights. "I didn't do anything!" Chase yells, trying to fight the cuffs but his attempts are futile.

"The security footage of you wearing that sweater, lighting the house on fire say otherwise."

I'm impressed Damon did all this tonight. "Wait," he mouths.

There's more?

A few cops gather. "There are underage drinking and drug use here," one of them says to one of the cops. He turns to address the crowd. "Who's responsible for this party? I can pull you in one by one for questioning, or we can take care of this right here."

One of the bouncers steps forward. I squeeze Damon's hand- surely he's going to be caught. "Noah Scott," the bouncer says. "Hired me to be a bouncer this morning- paid in cash. He assured me that everyone was over the age of twenty-one. I was just supposed to take the money and watch the door."

"Find him," one of the police officers says to his subordinate.

More cops enter the party and continue rounding up people. The area has been blocked off. Smarter students left five minutes ago, but many are drunk and slow on the uptake.

Noah is dragged outside by one of the officers. "What's going on?"

The officer that interrogated Chase steps forward. People who are waiting for a chance to get to their car are standing and watching. Kids drinking will get a slap on the wrist— what's going on before they is so much worse. The cop takes another step forward. "According to this man, you organized this party, where underage drinking and drug use are going on. Kids as young as fifteen, using illegal substances."

Noah scoffs. "I had nothing to do with this- this is a Damon Salvatore Party."

"Take off your wig," Damon whispers in my ear. No one is paying attention to us and we're far enough back in the dark that no one will notice.

I pull it off and stuff it into my backpack. Damon helps me quickly take off the wig cap. He runs his fingers through my hair and helps me stuff everything in my bag.

"Let's go." He whispers as we walk through the crowd of people to the front.

"I'm Damon Salvatore," Damon says confidently.

The cop approaches him. "He's saying you're responsible for this party."

Damon oozes confidence as he stands before the crowd. This is the Prince of Darkness, the ruler of Mystic Falls High School. He's not just speaking to the cops, he's talking to the school, daring them to defy him. They may be pissed their party ended so early, but they had a good time before it was interrupted. "My parties are epic," Damon pauses and looks around. "This one is…" he pauses dramatically like he thinks it's lame. "…okay. I'm just here to pick up my girlfriend."

He tugs me to him and wraps his arms possessively around my waist. Gasps and sighs resound from the crowd.

"What the fuck?" Ainsley yells.

Damon gives her one look that puts her in her place- a look that says, you are beneath me.

These people haven't seen me for over a week, and when they saw me last, I was on trial. My personal life was spewed before the whole student body thanks to Noah and his family. Damon is sending a very clear message. Elena Gilbert is my girlfriend- Don't fuck with her.

"This is your party, Damon," Noah argues. "I didn't throw this!"

Damon shrugs. "My parties don't get shut down by cops."

I laugh into his bicep.

Noah runs his hands through his hair- he looks maddening. "I didn't pay for any of this, I just got here!"

One of the strippers, dressed in a sparkly black mini dress and wearing dangerously high heels speaks up. "Noah Scott paid me in cash- said he didn't want his dad to find out."

This is amazing, I lean further into Damon's shoulder to hide my laughter.

"If he has nothing to hide, search his car," Damon suggests with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yeah, fine," Noah complies, thinking there's nothing incriminating in his car. The cop doesn't miss him wiping white powder from his nose. Not looking too good for Noah.

He tosses the cops his keys. The cops open his trunk and look in. He pulls out handfuls of drugs…lots of drugs with the XP symbol on it. This is what Damon did with the stash he took from me.

The cop nearest to Noah arrests him for running a party with underage drinking and drug use. Also, a high quantity drug possession charge and I think the cop said something about prostitution- what did Damon do? He's had a busy week.

Suddenly, two more bombs go off in the distance, where two cars were parked in the middle of the field just outside the property. Huh. Damon protects me from the blast by wrapping his arms around me and turning me away. The officers are asking what's going on and demanding to know more about the party while the fire department, who just finished putting out Kate's car start working on extinguishing the fires in the field.

It isn't until fifteen minutes later that fireworks are found in Frederick's trunk. Same fireworks found in the remains of Kate's blown up car. A tip that came from the DJ, who said he saw Frederick leave the party when he was having a smoke break. The DJ also further confirms Noah's involvement by showing the officer an email Noah sent regarding the playlist and money.

Cops arrest underage kids who are high or drunk, but thanks to the coffee Damon forced down my throat, I'm in the clear. By the end of the night, Damon and I walk to his car. "This was your plan?"

Damon is almost angry. "Did you think for one second I'd let them get away with what they did to you? They haven't even begun to suffer."

"What if I told you that I didn't care- that I didn't remember so I'd rather let it all go."

Damon grabs my wrist, twists it, and slams me against a car door. "You don't care because you don't value your life, but I care, Elena. I care because you are my life and without you I have nothing."

I am breathless.

Unable to speak.

Unable to utter a word.

"They'll come after you," I manage to whisper.

"And we'll fight them together."


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to write a review and thank you for reading. This chapter is probably my favorite one to date, so I hope that you enjoy it as much as I do.

Chapter 21

Damon

She has nightmares. At first, I thought that they were a result of what she went through at the cabin, but then I started piecing together parts of our childhood. It was just before third grade when I first met Elena. Over that summer, her little brother had been hanging out at our house- Jer met Stefan at tee-ball and they'd been inseparable since. As a result, Elena and I were forced to interact.

She was a competitive little shit and loved any challenge. When her Uncle John would come around, he'd play Elena and me against each other. He got a kick out of timing who was the fastest. Who was faster at starting the campfire; who was faster at running to the tree and back; who was the fastest at picking a lock.

I thought he had made up all his stories, but there were details that made me doubt this assumption. He told one of how he got the vintage Rolex around his wrist- lifted it from a casino owner who cheated at a game of poker. Elena even told me of a time her uncle made her pretend to be his daughter- all she had to do was hang out in the lobby of a hotel, walk into a man wearing a red silk tie, fall, and start crying. Her uncle swooped in with many apologies for his daughter's clumsiness and helped Elena up. Then he took her to get ice cream.

Her uncle started coming into town more and more to spend long periods of time with Jeremy and Elena. It was during that time she'd fall asleep in class. That marked the first time I'd been suspended. We were in the fourth grade and Elena dozed off in the middle of morning lessons. The teacher was droning on and on when the Teddy Fell started laughing and pointing his finger at her. Other kids started joining in.

I tried my best to get them to stop without waking her up by non verbally showing everyone what would happen if they didn't stop when Teddy poked her in the side. Elena woke up with a start and fell out of her chair. Everyone started laughing- until I clocked Teddy across the face. Dad put me in boxing after that incident.

When her uncle had to leave the country, she started occasionally staying at the mansion. Sometimes she'd bring Jeremy and we'd camp out in the backyard. Other times, she'd climb the tree next to my bedroom window and climb in in the middle of the night and climb into my bed wearing overalls and sneakers. I'd wake to her thrashing or worse, from her crying. I'd wrap my arms around her just so, and she'd stop and fall back to sleep.

The night before the party, I lay awake watching her even breaths, waiting for it to start. I wondered what she did all those years she was alone in that awful house. Maybe that's why she's at the top of the class and a fucking awesome runner- she's literally running herself ragged so she'll fall asleep. I've seen her while driving home from a party, on the side of the road running in the early hours of the morning.

My cell rings and when I see the name, I move to the living room of the suite to take the call. "Tell me," I say into the phone.

"Worthington and Scott are still locked up but Brown posted bail," my lawyer, Cameron Lockwood says.

"How?"

"Kid is sixteen and his parents have connections," he replies. I hear a heavy sigh. "I'm going, to be honest with you Damon, none of these guys have prior convictions. Local government is corrupt, we both know that. Depending on the judge and prosecutor assigned to the case, Noah Scott has the greatest chance of being put away, but that's only because of the highly publicized trial he lost. Even though the trial was held by high school students, universities have dropped him and the school suspended him. The court is going to see that, plus what happened last night as evidence that he was responsible for the party and he intended to sell the drugs in his car."

"What about Worthington?"

"Depends on if the Brown family decides to drop charges. In order to collect insurance, they can't drop the charges, but this is his first offense. If he's found guilty, he's an adult and could face time. He'll make bail, though. His family is influential enough that this whole case could get tossed out and they'll settle privately with the Brown family," he explains.

I check the bedroom door to make sure I didn't wake Elena. "Are representatives from Stanford, Columbia, and the University of Oregon going to be there tomorrow?"

"Leslie Pace is pissed Elena didn't show last week, but she's still in town so she said she'd go tomorrow morning."

"Probably a good thing. I don't think I want Elena going to Stanford," I reply.

Rafe Powell is going to Stanford and even though I'll support whatever Elena decides, I'd rather not have to be within a twenty-mile radius of that dick.

"Do you want me to contact her?"

I rub my head. Fuck, I'm tired. "No."

There's a pause and then. "There's someone else that's interested in seeing her run. My best friend is the conditioning coach for Manchester United and his friend heard about Elena."

"The soccer team?"

"Football, but yes."

"Why would he want to see Elena?"

"He's a private coach," he explains.

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't want some weirdo privately doing anything with Elena."

Another heavy sigh- Cameron is an expert on the heavy sigh but he knows when not to push.

"Am I in the clear?" I ask, changing the subject.

"You have absolutely no ties to the party tonight or the fire at the Brown estate."

"And everything else?"

"All the contingencies are in place. I'll contact you when the paperwork you requested is ready."

My dad always taught me to have a back-up plan to the back-up plan to the back-up plan. He might be an absentee father who prefers to send me to rehab than deal with me but he's taught me some pretty valuable lessons and if I call, he picks up- he might be in South Korea, but he'll pick up.

"Thanks, Cameron. Keep me updated on the cases."

"I'm billing you for every second, you do realize that right?"

"Yeah, Cam," I reply, shortly. "Just put it on dad's tab."

Cameron chuckles before hanging up. I pay for my own lawyer, but I know Cameron because of my dad. Cameron was the protégée of my dad's personal lawyer until he started his own practice and I became his best client. I like Cameron because he excels at skirting the law- which is why he's still on dear old dad's payroll.

I make my way back to the bedroom. When we got home last night, Elena took a shower and then crashed. I'm glad because she needs her rest before tomorrow's meet. I silently turn the knob and pad back into the room. As always, she's sprawled across the bed like a starfish, almost like she was trying to find me in her sleep. She stirs from her spot, a sad whimper falls from her lips. "Mommy, no!" She whimpers.

I pause at the threshold of the door, cruelly waiting to see what else she mutters in her sleep.

"I don't want to go!" She sobs. The sheets are pushed off of most of her body, but her legs are so tangled up in them, I'm surprised she hasn't fallen off the bed.

It's the same every time but I have a hard time believing she's crying for Miranda. Miranda was nothing but a bitch to her- she's the reason my dad let Elena stay at our place so often. He even had a room made up for her, which I refused to tell her about. I liked it when Elena would climb up to my room in the middle of the night. Even when I was too young to define what we had, I always knew I needed her. Pieces of my heart that died after my mother passed away, she was somehow able to fill.

We are as connected as if we exchanged blood. It's one of the reasons I hated her so much because I couldn't get rid of the parts of her that lingered in my veins.

Guilt will never dissipate over the fact that I left her alone after her brother died. I was angry and sent off to rehab but if I'd just gotten over myself, maybe I would've seen the truth of what happened. It was just so much easier to hate her than deal with everything else that was going on. Losing a brother, losing my brother's best friend, losing my dad's trust…the list goes on. Hating her gave me a purpose.

If I'd just seen beyond my own anger, maybe I wouldn't have done what I did, a decision that I feel like I'll be making up for for the rest of my life. Something so unforgivable, I pray Elena never finds out about.

She won't- I made sure of it.

Her tank rides up her stomach as she turns, moaning words of protest. Where did her dream take her now? I place my phone on the nightstand, sit on the bed, and wrap my arms around her. She does this thing where she leans into my chest, closer to my heart. I feel her soft, relived sigh against my skin. Her breath tickles the bare skin on my chest. She curls up in me as I wrap myself around her and slowly drift off to sleep.

XXX

I wake up in ecstasy, to moans and warm, soft lips wrapped around my cock.

A head lifts up from the sheets. "It was poking me."

I groan, raising my eyebrows. "It does that."

"Thought the polite thing would be to take care of it," she mutters, promptly getting back to work. Her tongue slides underneath my cock and then licks the pre-cum from the tip before sealing her lips around my shaft. I don't want to think about where she learned this from, because it feels fucking amazing.

My hands run through her silky locks, holding her in place as she starts sucking me like a popsicle. "Fuck!" I groan when she licks my balls before dragging her tongue up the underside of my cock.

Most girls act like sucking me off is an automatic precursor to sex but based on Elena's moans and the fact that her own hand is in her panties, she's enjoying this as much as I am. I wrap my hand in her hair and hold her right where she's at, my hips thrust into her welcoming mouth.

"I'm coming," I groan, releasing my hold.

I give her the opportunity to move, but she doesn't take it, instead, her fingers dig into my thighs, taking as much of my length as her mouth will allow as I come. Elena lifts her mouth from my member, gives me a shy, yet evil grin and swallows. I feel myself hardening again when I see that pink tongue seductively lick her lips, making sure she got every last drop.

It takes one fucking smirk for me to lose it. I wrap my hands around her tiny waist and flip her onto her back. She lets out a squeal as she falls on the mattress. "How much time do we have?" She gasps as I lift up her tank and start kissing her stomach.

"Enough," I grunt.

I don't really know but I hope I have enough time.

She moans sweetly as I work my way closer and closer to her pussy. "Damon!" She gasps, the sound is so needy and breathless.

Fuck me. How important is it for her to get to her meet on time?

Oh, yeah- incredibly important.

My fingers reach into her pale pink lace panties, but I pause. She lets out a cute frustrated groan. "What time is it?"

"Who cares?" She cries in frustration, lifting her tank over her head and tossing it to the ground. Well, that answers that. It doesn't prevent me from looking at the clock.

It's six o'clock. I brought the uniform and shoes from her gym locker so she can dress here. It'll take five minutes for us to get there, but she needs to be there early to warm up.

We have time.

"Maybe I won't go," she adds. I mean to tell her she better fucking go, but I lose my train of thought when I see her pale pink nipples pebble, ready for me to suck. I do just that and run my tongue around her areola before sucking on her tit.

"Oh, fuck," she moans. "I am so not going."

Oh yeah, I forgot. I lift my head up. "You're going because you're going to win and then we're going to have fun celebrating."

She bites her lower lip in the cutest way and shakes her head. Her hair falls into her face- my girl has major bedhead and she's being stubborn- well okay then.

My hand lazily drags across her stomach and tugs her panties down. "Yes, yes, yes," she praises, lifting her hips up to help me. And here she is, laid out before me completely bare and fuck do I want to take my time with her.

But I can't. I have to be an ass. An ass she'll thank later.

Hopefully.

I raise myself above her and capture her lips with mine. She opens her mouth to me, allowing me to feed her my tongue. With my right hand propped next to her head on the mattress, my left grazes her side so lightly, she squirms beneath me. I rest my palm right on her pelvis and rub slow circles. "Oh," she sighs, her head tilted back on the pillow as she moans in response to my slow massage.

I press my lips on a pulse point on her neck, sucking in tune with my palm. When a light sheen of sweat coats her skin and pebbles around her breasts, my index finger presses her clit. "Christ," she gasps, her hand starts playing with her breast, pinching her nipples, giving herself pleasure.

I circle my index finger around her clit, just once, before pressing it into her and pumping languidly. "Damon….I can't…Damon…God," she sighs. "That feels…" she trails off.

I find another spot on her neck and suck, lick, and bite. Two fingers pump into her, once, twice, and then I take her juices and use it as lubricant to swirl around her bud.

The moment I feel her on the edge, with her little sighs and the way her muscles flex- I withdraw my hand.

"What? No, no, no," she cries. "Finish!"

I slowly lick the fingers that were in her and then hover above her, with both palms on either side of her, my legs straddling her little body- trapping her and forcing all her attention on me. "Are you going to go to the meet?"

"What? No!" She spits out. "Now finish, or I'll do it myself."

Her hands move toward her but I snatch her wrists and hold them above her. "Are you going to go to your meet?"

Her brows furrow like she's figuring out a way to not do what I say and get what she wants.

"Fuck me."

Well, fuck me, I didn't expect this.

"Fuck me and I'll go to the meet," she offers.

"You can't blackmail me into having sex with you," I argue.

I can't believe I'm arguing this. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't care- I've never cared when it came to sex. I've also never had this much fun in the bed. Elena has zero inhibitions, something I should've realized every time she walked into school wore a look that told everyone, under no certain terms, they could go to hell after what they did to her. She's fearless, but also genuine. If you earn her trust, you have that for life. When she lets you in, you can't help but fall in love. She doesn't know this, but she walks around with her heart on her sleeve. There isn't a fake bone in my girl's body. Which is why it pains me to tell her no.

"Come on, Damon," she pleads, moving her hips so she's rubbing against my dick. The only thing between me and her is the very thin fabric of my pajama pants. Thank God I had the foresight to not take them off after she took me in her mouth. "Put your dick in my tight, wet pussy. Do it."

She plays dirty.

I shake my head- it's honest to God the hardest thing I've ever done. "No, baby."

I catch the look of doubt on her face. My rejection stings and I didn't intend for it to. I kiss her sweetly on the lips and move my hand back to her bundle of nerves, but my fingers linger just above. "When we make…" I pause, something else almost escaping my lips. "When we have sex," I correct, kissing her lips once more. "I don't want it to be quick." I press two fingers in her, the sudden movement causes her to cry out in desperation. "I want to take my time."

I continue my ministrations while sucking on her lips. "Are you going to go to your meet?"

She nods.

"Words, baby."

Taking the juices from her I circle her clit in lazy motions, taking my time and drawing it out.

"Yes," she gasps. "I'll go."

"That's good," I say, pressing my lips to hers.

She devours me, moving her hips to increase the pressure, but my thigh's pinned her to the bed- keeping her right where I want her.

"You look so good beneath me," I mutter into her ear, before pressing my lips to hers and swallowing her moan.

She moves her head to the side, trying to get air, convulsing beneath me. "Christ!" She screams as she comes undone. I keep my fingers in her, continuing my ministrations, letting her ride her orgasm. When her heart rate slows, I kiss her on the lips.

"I guess the rumors were true," she says, running her hands through my hair before kissing me sweetly on the lips.

"What rumors?"

She rolls her eyes, but there's a smile there. "I'm not going to tell you."

"Would you like me to repeat the rumors I heard about you?"

She scoffs and punches me lightly on the shoulder. "The rumors about me and the rumors about you were very different."

I move from her body and lean on my side with my elbow propping me up for support. She turns so she's leaning and facing me but shyly pulls the sheet back over her body. I pull it back down- just slightly. "People said that I sold drugs."

"That's true," I point out.

Her lips thin, she hadn't thought of that. I don't think what she did last night ever registered.

"People called me Easy Elena," she adds.

"Definitely not easy," I mutter. "And we don't even know if your real name is Elena. It could be Gertrude or Edna."

She giggles sweetly. "I guess that is true."

"What did people say about me?" I know what people say about me, but I want to hear it from her.

She touches her lip with her index finger. "You're good in the sack."

"Well, that's definitely true."

"And that you have a huge…" she widens her hands just so.

I grab her hands and roll her back underneath me. She's laughing so hard her eyes water. It is the best sound. "Well, we both know that's true."

She casts her eyes downward, presses her lips together, and hums. "Ummm hmmm."

Her deep brown eyes sparkle. I don't think I've ever seen them sparkle so brightly. I immediately want more. I selfishly want all those moments to myself. My hands move to the spot just above her hip bone and I squeeze. She giggles, and then starts laughing so hard she's crying. "Damon! Oh, my God!"

I can't help myself, I lean down and capture her pretty pink nipple between my lips and suck and do the same with the other before grabbing her by the hips and flipping he on her stomach. I smack her ass. "Now get ready for the meet."

She's still laughing when she sits up. "You are an ass."

"And you have a great one."

Her fingers run through her hair as she looks at me lazily through her long eyelashes. Her long brown hair falls down her bare back, locks fall over her chest, barely covering a few purple marks I left as a reminder. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are plump and cherry red. She's gorgeous and I don't fucking deserve her.

She leans back over and places one last kiss on my lips. "I'd better get ready."

I want to say something profound. Something more, but I can't find the right words, so I nod lamely.

Elena

Coach Dean seems especially nervous today. He's pacing back and forth and hasn't even yelled at me for missing the meet last week. Because of my time a couple of weeks ago, I automatically made it to state and I was the only one that qualified from MFHS. Cross country doesn't exactly pull the same popularity as other sports, so no one else from school is here.

He stops his pacing. "Did you drink enough water?"

I nod.

"Take a walk and stretch?"

"Did a couple sprints."

"If I tell you not to try to run at the front of the pack?"

"I'll tell you _okay_ but won't do it," I reply, honestly.

Another nod.

"The kids from Richmond High are a bunch of cheats. Stay away from them."

I scan the crowd of other students and find the maroon uniforms. "Good thing I plan on front running."

He gives an exasperated laugh, then places one hand on each shoulder and looks me in the eyes. "I'm not going to say anything sappy like you're the best runner I've had the pleasure of coaching or comment on how much I admire your attitude in the face of everything you've been through. I'm not going to say any of that. Just kick-ass," he smiles. "I really want to beat Richmond High."

"Coach…"

"Now get to the starting line."

"Okay."

I walk to the starting line and take a few deep breaths. I look at the stretch of grass and hills before me while doing a couple of final stretches. "You're Elena Gilbert."

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Nothing exists except me and the finish line.

"My coach tried to get you kicked off this race because you weren't at the meet last week."

I don't look in her direction, I keep my eyes forward.

"I guess your coach put up a fight."

What? I turn to the girl standing next to me. Richmond High jersey- I shouldn't have taken the bait.

She has a runner's body, a real runner's body. Powerful long legs and no boobs she has to restrain with a suffocating sports bra that was designed to prevent bounce- exactly what runners have to do. The girl could probably run this race in a lace bralette and wouldn't know the difference. The thought makes me laugh out loud.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You."

She looks scandalized like she didn't expect me to be honest. "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After the number of phone calls your coach had to make to get you on this race, you're going to humiliate him when you lose."

I just continue to laugh and move to my position on the starting line. She may have the typical runner's body, but I have something else. Something that doesn't come from running miles every day or lifting weights. Something that can only come from going through hell and seeing the other side.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damon. He's leaning against a tree, drinking coffee, his eyes on me.

He nods.

I nod back.

And the race starts.

I start out at a sprint, something my coach warns me about time and time again. Usually, I'll run and speed up as I go, but I want to put as much distance as I can between me and the crowd of runners surrounding me. The girl from Richmond is right next to me for the first mile, pacing me. Her breathing is all over the place and though her stride is perfect, she falls behind and then catches up. We both turn a corner, side by side, and that's when I see the hill. I love hills because I love to get them over with and run down the other side at top speed. The moment I see the hill, I know this is the moment. I lengthen my stride and go full out- my mind only on getting to the top as fast as I can. Once I reach the top, I continue to run as fast as my body will carry. I want it to hurt. I want to give it everything I have.

It isn't anger that drives me, it's hope. Hope that things can be better. Hope that I'll have a good life. Hope that I'll be free of this town one day. Miranda once said that hope can be a dangerous thing. She's right, I am dangerously hopeful—driven by the hope that my life won't always be a tragedy.

I raise my knees and continue to lengthen my stride until my muscles burn. Seeing the finish line in the distance, I keep my breathing even and go as hard as my heart will let me. The moment I cross the finish line it's like the volume was turned up. People from neighboring schools in the crowd cheer. It takes me several strides to come to a stop and even then, I have to walk sixty yards and circle back. My coach walks over to me, wearing a smile so wide I almost don't recognize him. "State champion and you broke the state record for this race."

Really? My happiness must be evident on my face because he laughs. Coach Dean never laughs, and I mean never.  
"Plus I beat Richmond," I add.

"The only thing I cared about," he smirks. "I want to introduce you to some people."

"I need water first."

"Quickly," he says.

I find Damon not far from where Coach was standing. I squeal like an absolute idiot and jump him, wrapping my legs around his waist. "I did it!"

He holds me firmly, not caring that I'm a sweaty mess. "You did good, Gilbert."

"Fuck good, I was awesome."

I press my lips to his, he opens his mouth to me and I slide my tongue against his. I can still taste coffee and this morning it's just coffee and not a hint of anything else. I kiss his bottom lip, before dropping my legs. "I need water," I gasp.

He leans over and hands me a water bottle from my bag. I down it quickly before giving him a peck on the lips. "Coach needs me to meet people. Probably the coach from Richmond— he doesn't like the guy."

"Be nice!" Damon jokes as I start to walk away.

I spin around, walking backward. "I'm always nice!" I say with a wink.

I find coach standing next to a few people and within minutes I find out that they are not coaches from other high schools, they are coaches from the cross country teams of Stanford, Columbia, the University of Oregon, and someone else. A man in his late thirties or early forties, wearing a Manchester United shirt and jeans. He has a slight beard and long hair tied back in a bun. I wouldn't be surprised if he was a former soccer player. He stands off to the side while the coaches from other schools make their introductions.

"That was quite a race," Janice Smith, the coach from the University of Oregon says.

"Thanks," I reply brightly.

"Your coach says that you run longer distances to train."

I glance at my coach who gives me an encouraging nod. "Yes and I run wind sprints and fartleks, but running isn't just a competitive sport for me. Running is a form of therapy for me. I can work through issues while going on a long run, which is probably why I like long runs- lots of free therapy."

All the coaches chuckle, but the man who hasn't introduced himself looks more plaintive like he's studying me. "Well, I'd love to talk to you about what Stanford can do for you."

Columbia chimes in. "Ever run in Central Park- I think you'd love it."

My eyes light up. "Or you can train where the weather is moderate year-round," Leslie Pace, from Stanford argues genially.

Coach Dean chimes in and talks about me while I awkwardly stand by. After ten minutes, I shake everyone's hand and Coach Dean walks them off the field. "Seems like you're going to have plenty of options for university next year," the guy with the Manchester United shirt says. He has a thick Irish accent that gets my attention. Who is this guy?

"Hopefully."

"Or you could do something different. You don't seem like the type of girl that likes to take the normal route. Compete in cross country in college while attending college, graduate, get a job, and give up running to focus on your career," he says.

"Doesn't seem so bad," I reply honestly.

"Or you could do something else, something not many have the opportunity to do."

I fold my arms, starting to get the chills I usually get after a run. "Who are you?"

He holds out his hand. "Seamus Kelly, I'm a personal running coach."

I shake his hand. "Why would I want a personal running coach?"

"If you compete on the college level, you'll be held back. You're a distance runner, Ms. Gilbert, and not many colleges will help you train for the miles you'll need to run as a distance runner. They'll want you to compete in events they need you to compete in," he explains.

"How do you know I'm a distance runner?"

"I see it in your eyes," he states. His _your_ sounds like _yer_ and I think I could listen to him read the Bible his accent is so lovely.

"My eyes?"

"Determination. I heard it in your voice when you talked about running."

"You make a convincing argument, but I want to go to college and run for the college I go to," I reply.

He nods. "You may still be able to do both."

His offer sounds nice but I just want something normal for once in my life. College is normal. Frat parties and studying late in the library- all normal experiences. "As you said, I have a lot of choices."

He hands me a card. "Contact me when you decide to go to the Olympics."

Olympics?

Seamus walks away and I know he knows he got me.

No, I can't go to the Olympics. I don't have time for pipe dreams.

College.

Drunken parties.

No mafia bosses after me.

These are things I want.

Damon comes up behind me with my bag in his hand, I take it and pull out a sweatshirt. "Who was that?"

I hear the edge in his voice. "No one," I reply, putting Seamus's card in my bag after pulling on the Timberwolves sweatshirt. "Let's go get something to eat, I'm starving."

Damon looks ready to argue but thinks better of it. He wraps his arm around me while we walk together to his car.

Miranda was definitely right, hope is dangerous because as Damon drives me to the nearest diner for pancakes, I can't help but imagine standing on the podium and getting the gold medal wrapped around my neck.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Elena

"I cannot believe you own this movie," I joke, flipping through the Apple TV library.

"It is a classic," Damon says, reaching over to try and steal the remote.

"Honest answer only, how many times have you watched it?"

Damon ponders, but he's not looking at me when he says, "A few."

"You are so lying!"

"One of dad's girlfriends must've bought it," he defends.

"Just keep digging yourself deeper and deeper, lying liar," I laugh.

It is so funny he's embarrassed by this and I love it. I love finding all the chinks in his armor. "I expected to see Fight Club or a James Bond collection, not this."

"It's a good movie!"

"So do you ship Peeta and Katniss or Gale and Katniss?"

Damon scoffs. "Depends on if you're talking about the book or the movie."

This just makes me laugh until it is painful, I have to lean over and almost fall off the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn over. "Oh my, God. My stomach hurts."

"Looks like we're watching The Hunger Games," he mutters, finally managing to grab the remote from my hand and pressing play. Once the opening credits come on, Damon picks up the popcorn mess and leans back on the couch in his theater room with his arm around me.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," I remark, pressing my index and middle finger to my lips and holding them out to the massive screen in his theater room.

He wraps his fingers around my wrist and pulls them back, laying them on his chest. "You should be grateful that I'm not making you watch _Cool Hand Luke_."

My eyebrows pinch. "I love Paul Newman- that man was hot. I'd totally watch _Cool Hand Luke_ with you if I actually believed you've seen it."

I can tell by the way his eyes avert me that I'm right. The jackass has never seen _Cool Hand Luke._

Damon sits up, his hands and body no longer near me. He's defensive as fuck and honestly, it makes me giggle, though I know now is not the right time. "The Hunger Games was a critically acclaimed movie and the books provide insight into the class system in America."

I raise my eyebrows. "And JLaw is hot, right?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "Plus kids fighting to the death."

"Uh huh," I mutter unconvincingly, turning toward the screen. The lights are out in the theater room and when the opening credits roll with the iconic instrumental music, I can't help but feel like I'm at the theater.

I lay against Damon's chest munching on popcorn, watching Katniss volunteer as tribute.

"Think I could shoot a bow and arrow like Katniss?"

As I lay on Damon's chest, I feel his chuckle. It wasn't _that_ funny. "There's a reason you're a talented runner."

"And?"

"You don't have the coordination to do a sport that involves more than moving one foot in front of the other," he says, playfully tugging at my hair.

I sit up and glare at him. I've made similar comments about myself but it gives him absolutely no right to. "Excuse me? How do you think I got those keys Friday night and returned them. That took extreme levels of coordination."

"You got them because you fell."

"On purpose!"

"But still, your prowess relies on being a klutz. It's fine, I think it's cute," he mutters innocently.

I cannot believe he just said that. "I'm better at you in pool! How many times did I beat you as kids?"

"Operative word being _kids_."

Voices of Katniss and Caesar Flickerman fill the room, but all I can see is red. "I am incredibly coordinated and agile and…"

"— all the synonyms for the word _coordinated_?" Damon finishes.

He's getting me back for making fun of his video library.

I didn't even mention the most embarrassing video in his library because I was trying to spare his feelings. "I declare _uncle_."

Damon's eyes sparkle. We haven't used that term in years. _Uncle_ refers to both Uncle John and the slang term for any espionage service. If Damon, myself, or Uncle John declare _uncle_, it means we're challenging the other person.

"Terms?"

"We play one round of pool," because that's all I have time for. "Winner gets to pick out the loser's outfit on Monday."

Damon stands up from the couch and offers me his hand. "Fine but we finish this movie later because I haven't seen it in a while and so far, it holds up."

I reject Damon's hand by standing up on my own. I just played pool a few weeks ago and I won- I have no doubt I'll win again. I see a flicker of doubt on his face. He doesn't know if this is going to go his way or not. I lead him down the hall and to the game room where there's a bar, a dartboard, and a professional pool table. Damon walks to the bar and pours himself a drink while I rack the balls.

"Solids or stripes?"

He shrugs, handing me his tumbler to drink out of. I may have work in an hour, but I can afford a couple sips of bourbon- especially considering Damon poured his dad's shit and his dad's shit is good. It goes down my throat like burnt caramel. I grab a stick and chalk it. "Let's make this interesting," Damon says.

I lean my hip against the table and stop chalking, waiting for him to explain.

"For every ball we pocket, we get to ask the opponent a question and they have to answer honestly."

In a way, this could be good for me. I could ask Damon anything I want. I could ask him about the fire he started. I could ask him about the party on Friday night, how he planned it all and whose cars he blew up. I know about Kate's, but I don't know about the other two.

Damon takes a coin out of his pocket. "Flip to see who breaks?"

He's holding a cue to his side and leaning against the table with a crystal glass of bourbon in his other hand he looks, incredibly sexy and suddenly I'm thinking about all the things we could do on this table. My eyes flicker to the clock- I have less than an hour. Shit.

"Planning on going somewhere?"

I shake my head, not meeting his eyes as I do it- instead concentrating on chalking my cue. He won't want me going to work and I'd rather not bring it up right now. "Are you going to flip the coin or should I?"

Damon casually flips it. I call heads. He flips the coin over. Tails- he shows me as proof. "Looks like you're breaking."

Damon walks around the table and lines up his cue. He finds his spot, leans over, and angles his shot. I'm so busy looking at the way his jeans fit around his hips as he leans over that I miss the shot. He sank two balls. "Do you still like Powell?"

This is what he's curious about?

"Honestly?"

He nods.

"I never liked him."

A glimmer of satisfaction flits across his face as he lines up another shot. He sinks another ball. "Why were you at my party that night?"

"What night?"

"_That_ night."

I lean against the pool table. Why does he want to know about that night? He saw the video. He knows what happened.

"Why?"

He's not looking directly at me, instead he's lining up his next shot. "You weren't welcome; you had to know that, so why push you luck?"

Was he purposefully trying to be mean? What game is he playing, now?

"People started laying off of me at the end of junior year. One of the other cross country runners wanted me to go and it sounded like I could have fun, so I went," I explain.

Damon makes a sharp beeping noise, like we're on a game show. "Wrong answer!"

"It's the truth!"

"So you weren't there for Noah Scott?"

"I…"

I was. Noah expressed interest and he was cute and a football god, but I didn't know who he was or what he was capable of.

"That's a different question," I reply. "It's one question per shot. You made the rules."

Damon leans over and sinks the shot. He barely lifts his head up when he asks, "Were you at that party for Noah Scott?"

I sigh heavily. "I wasn't there strictly for him but yeah, I thought he liked me and I was attracted to him."

He slips and misses his next shot. Something like anger creases his forehead, more so at my response than missing his next shot.

I lean over the table, line up my shot, and sink the solid six ball. I've asked this before but because he brought it up, I have to know. I need to hear it again. "When did you know about the security footage showing what he did?"

For a fraction of a second, I see something in Damon's eyes. It could be his anger over the situation I was in. It could be the fact that there's another perfect shot ready for me to line up and hit. "Just before the trial, which is when I arranged for it to be played."

I nod, believing him because at some point, I have to. I can't hold onto this forever. I lean over the table and make the next shot, but the ball hangs at the edge of the pocket and doesn't go it. Damon doesn't smirk. He doesn't gloat. He's all business as he easily sinks another shot. I forgot how competitive he could get except this is underlying anger. I can see it in the way he concentrates and the way he inhales and exhales. His mood shifted over the last fifteen minutes and I think it has less to do with me teasing him over his movie choices.

"Do you remember the night in the cabin?" he asks darkly.

My face pales.

"More than you said," he adds.

I throw the pool stick on the table, messing with the shot he was prepared to line up and walk out of the room. He's being a jackass. It's like he can't help himself. He's sweet and kind one minute and the next it's like he can't get over the last four years. I don't know if I can. We've lied so much to each other, that sort of thing doesn't go away after a blissful ten days together. We may be doomed.

I make my way back to the pool house to grab my things for work when I feel his hands on my waist, tugging me back. I shrug them off of me. "Stop, Damon!"

His hands immediately fall from my hips. I turn to face him and push him square on the chest. "Why are you pushing this issue?"

"Because I know you're lying."

"I blacked out, Damon! What more do you need to know?"

"You might have blacked out some of it, but you remember more than you're saying."

"Why the fuck do you care what I remember? It's over, it's done. There's literally nothing we can do to change what happened."

"Because you can't go on as though nothing happened!" He yells. "You went through something traumatic. We can't play boyfriend and girlfriend- watching movies and teasing each other until you deal with it. Otherwise, it's all fake. Every smile you give me. Every orgasm I give you, is fake because you have to deal with this Elena if we're ever going to have a future."

"What about you?" I counter, pushing back. "You found me and I was essentially out of it for the following two days. You don't talk about _that_. You don't talk about what you planned Friday night. Have you ever thought that the reason I may not want to talk to you is because you're not exactly forthcoming. It's so like you to hold everyone around you to a higher standard than that of what you hold for yourself."

He doesn't say anything like he's struck, dumbfounded.

"Let's talk about rehab, Damon," I push because I can.

"Don't."

That only propels me forward. "Fine! You demand to know what happened in the cabin, let's talk about the number of girls you've slept with at school."

His eyes smolder darkly like he's a different person. Someone otherworldly- the real dark prince. "They consented to everything that happened to them and they knew what they signed up for. Don't you dare compare _that_ to the abuse you suffered in the cabin. You want to know more about that night? Fine. I spent all day looking for you because you decided to run out and I knew a drug lord capo was after you. Then at five in the morning, I received an envelope with coordinates written in your blood…"

My brows knit in confusion. "I wasn't cut or…." I pause the realization dawning on me. "Oh."

"Blood from breaking your hymen. You were in a cage in a field on the side of the road, naked. I carried you to my car and took you home. You were up throwing up and then I had a doctor check you over. You know the rest."

I already knew bits and pieces of what Damon told be but when it's put all together it seems surreal. "I don't remember anything," I repeat, more soberly than the first time I said it. "I need to get to work."

"There you go," he yells after me. "If we avoid every topic from your mother to finding out your dad died to what happened that night in the cabin, you're fine- you move on as though nothing happened. The moment I break through your wall of ice, you run away. The moment things get hard, you run."

I ignore him and even though I'm wearing high waisted leggings and a cropped grey tee, I don't go back to the pool house, instead, I go to the garage, grab the first set of keys I can find, press the unlock button and walk toward the noise of a car unlocking. There are six cars in this garage and even more in an airport hanger outside of town. I pull the handle of the black Audi, open up the garage door with a button on the visor, and start the car. I ignore the black SUV with Santi and Mal in the front seat and drive to Patty's Diner.

"You're early," Gary yells from the kitchen, like I did something wrong.

"Sorry?" I mutter, wrapping an apron around my waist.

He stomps over to me with a spatula in one hand, his other points an index finger at me. "Why are you still working here? That Salvatore fellow told me you were sick and staying at his place."

"How long have I worked here?"

His eyes narrow. "A few years."

"Yeah, and in that time have I ever given any indication that I would quit because of a guy?"

He doesn't even think about it. "No."

"Unless you're firing me, I'm still working here. So am I fired or am I working tonight?"

He grunts and shakes his head, walking back to the grill. I guess I still have a job. I'm glad I told Gary that I'd rather do dishes than wait tables. Chloe is working tonight and she told me Rafe quit last week, which is a relief. She talks to me during breaks, telling me about the guy she's seeing, while I wash dishes and listen- happy for the distraction.

She's spent so much time talking about herself that she awkwardly realizes it in the middle of a sentence and turns the conversation on me, something I do not want. "There was a guy looking for you on Monday. A real good looking older man in an expensive suit. I offered to be his sugar baby but he gave me a look like he'd shoot me if I uttered another word."

Chloe shudders at the memory. I didn't think Domenico would drop the package off personally. Why would he go out of his way to make sure I got it? He could've easily had Jasper drop it off.

"Probably a friend of my mom's," I offer, truthfully.

"He looked like he knows his way around the female anatomy," she sighs. "Like he'd define pleasure with the word dominance."

When she says that, I of course think of Damon. The way his whole body wraps around me at night. Sometimes, it's like we don't even have to verbalize what we want- we just know. It's our dance. He knows I need to feel protected when my eyes are closed and I know he needs my trust- he wants me to open up and I haven't- not really.

"You're all red," Chloe comments.

I throw a dirty cloth at her. "Aren't you supposed to be waiting on tables?"

She catches the cloth and points it at me. "One of these days you're going to tell me about who's making your face all flushed."

I smirk, putting earbuds in and playing an alternative mix. I wash dishes until closing. When the last pot is washed and I've scrubbed down my station, I walk outside to drive home. Damon is sitting on a bench outside the kitchen, in the dark, with his hands steepled beneath his chin. He looks tired and I wonder how long he's waited out here. "I had Santiago drop me off."

"Should probably call him to take you home."  
"We need to talk about this, Elena."

"I'm going to go back to my house on the South Side."

"I'll drive you but you need to deal with this. If you can't talk to me about it, I'll get you into the best therapist, right now," he thinks about what he said for a moment. "Actually, I'll call her anyways. I'll have you in her office in ten minutes."

He takes out his phone— he is not kidding.

"It was Noah," I finally say, sitting next to him on the wooden bench, my elbows resting on my knees. "They all had their masks off at some point."

He looks up from his phone and gazes at me with so much patience, I want to run away.

I close my eyes, picturing it in my head. "They were playing a club remix of that song Bad Guy. The lights were low and they were plying me with shots. I was dancing for them on the bed, swaying my hips and taking off articles of clothing as I went. Then I saw Noah and he had his shirt off and it's like any attraction I previously had for him was magnified a million fold," I take a deep breath remembering it. The way I felt. "I felt so good and for some reason, I knew he was the only one that could make me feel even better."

Tears I wasn't aware of are sliding down my cheeks. "It's like I said before. I asked him for it. I begged him to fuck me, I remember it. I remember standing on that bed in my underwear asking him to make me feel good."

Damon is so patient sitting beside me, I thought he would've left me by now, instead, his silence prompts me forward. "I was lying on the bed and Chase and Franklin were holding my arms down. There was an argument over whether or not he should wear a condom. Noah didn't want to but Chase and Franklin said that he should because they didn't know where I'd been."

Damon doesn't touch me. He doesn't do anything except sit silently beside me, with his hands firmly clasped in front of him.

"Then he entered me and it hurt and I think I tried to fight him off and then they were making me drink more and I really don't know what happened after that."

He's quiet for a moment, but the moment drags and I know it's because he knows I'm not being entirely truthful.

"He pumped in me and it felt good and it felt good to be held down," I correct. I squeeze my eyes shut. "No, that can't be right because I also remember crying and yelling."

I shake my head like I'm trying to filter the real memories from what I'm clinging to.

"I remember Franklin saying they needed to give me more and Chase saying they didn't want to kill me just make me pliable otherwise it wouldn't look good. I was thirsty and asked for more water and they gave me some and I don't know anything after that."

There's a pause and I think Damon's waiting to see if I say any more. When I don't say anything, he sighs heavily.

"If they had to hold you down and you remember crying and yelling for them to stop, then you didn't consent to anything. They were drugging you; all your actions were done under the influence of ecstasy, coke, and plenty of alcohol. You may have wanted to feel good but anyone would've reacted the same way under those conditions."

I wish it were that simple. I wish it was black and white but I know there's part of me that wanted it. I was under duress, sure, but at the moment, what they were doing didn't feel awful.

Damon answers my unexpressed questions. "If you had to be abducted and drugged to let them do what they were going to do- none of that was done under your own free will, Elena. Your brain was coping with the circumstance. It's how you survived."

I let his words sink in. Did I just accept my fate and make the most of it? Maybe.

"What happened to Franklin, Chase, and Noah after the party?"

"Franklin got off but Chase and Noah are still behind bars," Damon finally says. "Chase was charged with burning down the Brown's cabin but if they don't press charges the arson charges won't stick."

If I'd handled things differently last week, maybe everything would be different. Maybe they would've had enough proof, but even the thought of going through what I went through in August makes me want to vomit.

I have to ask. "Do you wish I went to the police?"

He shakes his head. "I know what you went through the last time you went to the police and I still don't have faith they'd take your word for it. If Liz Forbes were still working in the department, maybe, but they're so corrupt that with those families involved, I doubt they would've believed you even with concrete evidence."

"Plus most people want to run the Gilberts out of town because of what my parents did."

"There's that."  
"So now you know why I wasn't exactly eager to share what I do remember."

His eyes close like he's disappointed. "You could've shared it with me," he exhales.

I take a deep breath knowing he'll hate what I'm about to say. "Let's revisit the question I asked you at the pool table. How many girls at MFHS have you slept with? Did you sleep with Ainsley last week? You knew I was in the pool house and I practically forced you to date her. How far did you take it? How do you expect me to share things with you when you're not exactly forthcoming?"

He sighs, not answering my inquiry. I stand abruptly from the bench and make my way toward the Audi. Damon follows because he was dropped off. He doesn't ask to drive or speak at all, instead, I start the Audi and drive back to the boarding house. I think I heard him sigh with relief when I didn't make the turn to the south side of town. After I park the car, without words, I stride to the pool house. Damon doesn't follow. I strip out of my work clothes and take a shower in the luxurious overhead rainfall shower.

When I'm done, I dry my hair and change into a black tank and lace panties. I'm so tired from dishes and my confession to Damon, that I climb into bed alone and quickly fall asleep.

Sometime in the very early hours of the next day, I feel arms around me, tugging me closer. I'm suddenly very awake the moment those strong legs tangle with mine. "Damon…" I moan.

I feel lips on my forehead. "What do you need?"  
"You." It's a breath that's the most natural thing to utter.

His lips move to my throat, nuzzling into me, but I don't want this to be sweet because I need more. I flip my leg over him and sit upon him, my hair falls like a curtain onto his firm chest. I rock onto his length, swiveling my hips so I can get myself off from his hardness. "When I say that I need you, I mean that I need…" my hips rotate right over his hardening length. "_you_."

He groans my name and the sound from his lips is luxurious.

"Are you going to give me what I want or are you going to try to be the good boy we both know you are not," I mock. I know Damon and I know that I need to push his buttons.

Just a little.

"Why can't I stay away from you?"

Because I won't let him, but I don't say that.

I swirl my hips just so, he lets out a strangled sigh. "Do you want me to stay away from you?"

He lets out a guttural noise. "No."

"I need you to do something for me," I ask, so quietly, I worry I won't be able to repeat myself when he asks.

His eyes flash to mine. He heard me, loud and clear.

"I need a real memory," I say with a rotation of my hips. "I need you to fuck me."

His hand falls to the small of my back and flips me over so he's on top. "Is that what you really want?"

I kiss his neck, resting my face in his warmth while I languidly lavish his pulse point. His groan is enough- it's full of need and uncontrollable desire. "I…" I pant, combinations of heat and pure unadulterated need consume me. I watch his abs flex as I buck toward him, his restrained desire is enough to set me off.

I wrap a leg around his. "I know you want to," I moan, rubbing myself against him.

His head falls in the crook of my neck, I feel the heat of his staggered breaths as he utters. "I do."

"Make me forget, Damon," I plead, my heart splintering into several pieces as I utter the words. "Make me forget about everything that happened in that cabin. I want you, I want you to be the one to cure me of this."

His face sets in determination. "Touch yourself."

My eyebrows pinch.

"Take those pretty little fingers and sweep them around your clit."

With my left hand I anchor myself to Damon by squeezing his bicep, with the other, I reach into my panties and touch myself. I'm already embarrassingly wet. Damn hikes my leg further up his. "Use me," he commands.

I translate the words unspoken. He wants me to use him for my pleasure. He wants me to get off in any way that I see fit. With one of my legs wrapped around his, I arch my back and thrust my hips up. Dancing with the way I'm moving, Damon anchors me to the mattress by pressing more weight on my chest. The friction of Damon's lounge pants combined with the slight thrusts cause me to bow my back in no time. Damon presses his lips to my arched throat. His hair tickles my skin and all I can do is move to the beat of the song that's playing between us. I'm panting with every thrust, my movements hurried as I climb to my climax and then I feel it. A blissful shudder extends from my core to my lips. I cry out, but Damon doesn't stop. He continues to thrust, continues to press his lips all over my sensitive skin.

I feel another orgasm build and just before I explode again, Damon is off me. I am a boneless puppet as he positions me so I'm lying on the bed with my legs hanging over the edge. He sweetly places a pillow beneath my head, and then his hands lightly memorize my body. He's barely touching me and yet I feel like I could come from his intense gaze. "Every time I looked at you, from across the hallway or in class, it hurt," he says, continuing the trail of his hands to my sides, down to my hips. He kneels before me and hooking his fingers in my lace panties, tugs. "You're going to make up for all the times you caused me pain."

My hand flies over my eyes, but he doesn't like that. Like a viper, he snatches my wrist and lays it over my breast. "You're going to watch everything I do to you."

He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder and leans close to my sex and blows lightly.

"What are you doing?"

What I should say is, don't stop.

He continues to blow air across my sex, almost telling me what he's about to do. "Bringing you pain."

I don't know how to describe the noises coming from my mouth as he continues to torture me, not touching me but lightly blowing and inspecting me. The moment his tongue touches my bare vulva. "You're smooth," he accuses, like he's a combination of upset and suspicious but happy about it.

A long victorious moan escapes my lips in response to his touch. His tongue licks me, driving me to the point of insanity and he hasn't done anything yet. I guess this is what he means by pain. "Running," I try to explain even though I don't know why I feel the need to explain my grooming habits to him. "It's just easier."

My answer seems to satisfy him because he delves deeper, dragging his tongue up until his lips meet my clit and he sucks. "

"Oh, fuck!" I cry out.

I feel the bastard smile against me as he continues the purposeful strokes of his talented tongue. I feel tightening in my core but then he sits back on his haunches and cocks an eyebrow.

It is painful.

"Damon!"

He leans over and pulls up my tank slightly. He kisses my stomach and he's painfully tender. His icy blue eyes meet mine and if it were possible for me to vocalize how I feel in that moment, I don't know if I could ever take it back.

Inexplicable noises come out of my mouth the moment he plunges two of his fingers in me. The combination of his sweet kisses mixed with the violence of his fingers make me cry out in frustration and suddenly I understand why he has the reputation he does.

I couldn't ignore the rumors that spread throughout the school about the Prince of Darkness's knowledge of a woman's body. One girl described him as the Michelangelo of sex, able to paint and sculpt desire with his talented hands and luxurious cock. At the time I thought that was an over-exaggerated description but now I get it.

Even if he's driving me insane.

Constantly bringing me to the brink, watching and waiting, and then going back to drive me out of my mind again. What's most peculiar is how much he enjoys it. Other stories about other guys described sex as being a one and done experience. Guy puts on the condom, gets off, wraps up the condom, and is done, as the girl lays there wondering what the hell happened. Damon takes pleasure in bringing pleasure because he's creating an addiction of his own making.

After the fifth time of bringing me to the edge, he finally lets me come and laps up my orgasm. Sweat coats my skin as he presses his lips to mine, then moving me so I'm in the middle of the bed. My eyes take him in as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of his pajama bottoms and pulls them down. His thick and hard cock springs out. His hand grasps his length, tugging it before reading for the bedside drawer. I stop him. "No," I order. "I want to feel you."

I don't want to feel a condom and I trust him. His eyes darken. "What about…"

I shake my head. I didn't tell him this earlier because it was none of his business but now, it kind of is. "I'm on birth control. I asked Dr. Klein for a prescription when he did a follow-up."

There was no way I was risking pregnancy after what happened at the cabin. While Damon was at school, he had a follow-up appointment to make sure I was okay and he promised me he would adhere to doctor-patient confidentiality, even if Damon was the one paying him.

To his credit, Damon has a moment of hesitation until I sit up and take off my tank, tossing it across the room. He climbs on top of me and captures my mouth with his. I taste myself on him and it only heightens my pleasure. He takes his time kissing me, stroking my tongue with his and tweaking my nipples with his fingers. "I want this," I tell him. "Please."

With my hands on his shoulders, I drag my fingers down his back, pulling him closer. "Please, Damon. Please."

I know he's worried. I know he wants to wait and I don't know why I'm suddenly different from every other girl he didn't hesitate to fuck, but I know he needs my reassurances. With one hand on his shoulder, the other reaches for his cock but he pushes it away. Damon rests on his elbows on either side of my head and hovers over me. His eyes penetrate mine before he presses his lips upon my own. "You deserve to be happy."

"I am," I breathe, and I mean it.

Like my words are salve on his conscious, he sighs and captures my lips for what feels like the millionth time that evening. "Spread your legs, baby," he orders between kisses. His hand applies pressure to my clit once more before lining up his hardened cock and slowly entering me.

I scream and tears spring to my eyes but because Damon prepared me so well, he's able to slide in, slowly but smoothly.

"You're so tight," he utters, withdrawing slightly and then pumping back in. "Like a fucking glove. Perfect."

He hasn't even fully entered me and I'm ready to come again. It's luxuriously painful. Damon takes his time, entering me and then pulling back until he's completely inside of me. On his elbows, he waits for me to adjust. "Are you ready?" He checks in, pecking me on the forehead.

I nod.

"Words, baby."

"I'm good."

Satisfied with my response, he rocks his hips in and out of me in long strokes. I wrap my legs around his waist as he slowly pumps in and out of me. We're making out, exploring each other's mouths until it's too much and I'm panting into the crook of his neck while he sucks on my earlobe or leaves a trail of languid kisses on my chin and neck. I score his back when I feel him tighten and then come in me. With the press of his thumb on my clit, I'm coming with an explosion along with him. We're both sweaty messes, riding each other's orgasms until the very last drop dissipates.

He stays there, his cock stroking my core while we both come down from our orgasms. I arch my back just slightly, my breasts rubbing up against his chest when I feel him hardening within me again.

"Hmmmm," I moan. "Again."

He lifts himself up, wrapping one of my legs around his waist, he starts pumping into me again. I'm so full of him but everything he's doing, every stroke feels so fucking good that I can't stop. When I rub against him just so, it creates friction against my clit that feels so good, I shudder with pleasure. "More," I whisper into his ear.

He complies with my request my placing his lips on my own, but forcing me to open up my mouth, he strokes my tongue. My hands scrape his back as I bring my fingers up to his head, running my hands through his hair as we make out.

And then he's coming again, right along with me.

We continue kissing throughout the orgasm, riding the wave of pleasure until our heart rates even. "You are…" he mutters gruffly.

"What?"

"Addictive."

I lightly laugh. I could say the same. He lifts himself off of me, kisses me on the forehead, each cheek, and then my lips. "I'll be right back."

I stretch on the cool sheets while Damon is gone. I place a hand over my lips, savoring the feel of his on mine moments earlier. Is it always like this? After the stories I've heard, my guess is no.

Damon comes back, still gloriously naked, with a hot damp cloth. He wipes me clean, gently pressing reassuring kisses on my stomach while he cleans me. He's sweet and tender and it makes me want to go another round.

Damon leaves to put the cloth away and then comes back to bed, wrapping me in his arms, tucking me into his body so I'm in the warmth and safety of my Damon cocoon until I drift off to sleep.

In the early hours of the morning, Damon and I wake and lazily fuck until we fall back asleep. It was quick, almost like we needed the attention before we could fall back to sleep.

_ I'm being shoved into a trunk, clasping my blue binkie and a sippie cup. "No, mom, no! Don't leave me!" I cry, in a voice much younger than my own. _

_ My mother, her young face with chocolate brown eyes so much like my own, leans over me. "I'll make sure you're safe, Elena. Trust me. Trust that I love you."_

_ Tears fall from my eyes. "Don't leave me, mommy, don't go!"_

_ Her kind round face kisses my forehead. "I love you, my little sweet pea."_

_ The trunk closes and my mom is further and further away. "No, mommy, no!"_

"Elena!"

Large hands rouse me in my sleep. "Elena!"

Hands comb through my hair and lips press on my forehead. "You're safe. You're with me."

I cling to Damon. "I need you," I state, my hand reaching beneath the covers.

He doesn't question it, and enters me. I'm still lubricated from the last time I woke up and fucked him, this time, I flip my thigh over and get on top of him. He takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks as I lazily ride him. I'm half asleep so the effort isn't great, but it doesn't seem to matter to Damon. His hands fall to my ass and need my cheeks while I rock into him.

"Jesus, fuck!" He cries as I work his cock with slow circles of my hips.

I lazily fall over and kiss him like I'm trying to hold onto the memory of how we are together. My long hair falls over my shoulders in a cascade. Damon's hands move from my ass to my back, pressing me closer to him. The pressure on my clit is enough to set me off, and as I come so does he. It's a quick and lazy fuck but we don't care. "Do you want to talk about your dream," he whispers into my ear.

It's the same every time. Same dream. I just have a face to the person I call mommy. A young face with pink cheeks and olive skin, so much like my own.

"No," I whisper back.

I fall onto him, I am so bone tired. He doesn't leave me to clean up, instead, he wraps his arms around my lower back and holds me.


	23. Chapter 23

Author's note: A big thank you to everyone who's reading and reviewing this fic. I emailed regarding the problem with you all seeing reviews. Hopefully, the situation will be resolved soon. I want to let you know that I see them via email notification and they are so sweet and motivating. I appreciate all the support and I am so excited for you to read this chapter. Thank you!

Chapter 23

Damon

She is insatiable and I love every second of it. We wake several times that night and into the morning. Sometimes it's her swinging her leg over my hip, climbing on top and riding me, or sometimes it's me rocking into her and fucking her from behind. I knew she was the one that would undo me. I just didn't think it'd happen this quickly. Based on my experience, most girls want the intimacy of sex. They want the feeling of before, the furious heat of passion, and they want the after- the immediate gratitude that comes with offering sex. I've fucked a lot of girls but I never before felt like I was evenly matched.

I never felt like the girl was enjoying it as much as I was, and I tried. I tried to make sex a mutual experience, as it should be, even if we are teenagers. However, Elena fucks with her heart on her sleeve. She wants it as much as I do and enjoys every aspect of it as I do. It's a mutual exchange. A dance we both know the beat of. She doesn't hold anything back- so I don't either.

I do have this annoying, nagging feeling; I think she'd be this way with anyone. It's a disturbing thought, but a real one. Elena wears her heart on her sleeve, it's why so many people like her. She's real. She doesn't buy into popularity bullshit. She's her own person- confident in her own skin. Confidence is attractive. I can see why Chase and Noah wanted her— I can even see how under the influence of drugs she'd act the way she did. With all the pressure that was placed on her in recent years and the neglect of her childhood, Elena craves release. Take away all her excuses, and she owns every circumstance she's in.

So as her lips press against mine and as her pussy engulfs my cock, I can only think about how to keep this girl to myself. It's a level of possession I've never felt before. "You're mine," I say and I have no fucking clue where that came from, but it feels right.

"Who else would I be with?"

I pause. She doesn't even know the number of guys I've seen staring at her. I know what they want, I know what they're thinking. Domenico Moretti being the worst of the bunch- I haven't seen it, but based on the way Elena talks about him, I know he wants her. She's a unicorn. She's sexy without realizing what she's doing. She could wrap everyone around her little finger if she even knew her power, but she doesn't, which makes her even more desirable.

"You're mine, and only mine," I repeat. She seems confused but I don't care, it needed to be said.

We have a lazy Sunday morning in bed. I have the family chef prepare brunch for us to munch on while we lazily eat and fuck. We eventually finish Hunger Games on the couch in the pool house, but Elena doesn't care. She's busy sitting on my lap while stroking my chest until I move her back to bed. As I said, this girl is insatiable- I've never experienced anything quite like it.

Finally, I have to ask. "Elena, what do you remember about your birth mom?"

She's lying across me, her boobs on my chest and her mouth on my neck. She slightly lifts her head up and scowls. "I don't want to talk about her."

"The Gilberts took you in when you were young, we don't really know anything about that yet but now that you know that she exists, do you remember anything?" I press.

"She looked like me," she says, in a voice so small, I almost doubt it's her own. Digging for a repressed memory.

"How so?" I can't help but dig a little further.

I feel an intake of breath as she lays sprawled on my chest. "I only know what I dream; memories that pop up."

"Okay."

"She had dark brown hair and brown eyes with long lashes," she explains.

Just like hers.

"What were you doing in the dream?"

She pauses a deep breath and her eyebrows pinch. She's about to lie. "I don't know."

I'm not mad or even disappointed.

She rubs herself against me and even though it's the afternoon on Sunday, I don't care. We haven't left the pool house all day and I'm suddenly afraid of how we're going to manage school tomorrow. I might put a call into the school and get my schedule changed to match hers. As Elena presses her lithe body against mine, I confirm that this is a great idea. She doesn't know her own power and I don't think I want her to know the power she yields.

"You've cried out for your mom before," I mention, trying to delicately refer to the times I held her in the middle of the night. .

Her entire body freezes.

_What in the hell, Damon? _

_ Seriously? Way to kill the mood._

She doesn't move but utters. "When?"

Oh, Jesus. There's no avoiding this. I tug her body up and rest my head in the warmth of the crook of her neck. "At night, you have dreams."

I don't know if she can hear me considering I said these words into her neck, but she seems to be able to translate the mumbles. "And you think they're a projection of my subconscious?"

"Yes," I say because I believe it to be true.

We're both clinging to each other, my arms wrapped protectively around her, her leg flung over mine. "What is my subconscious trying to say?" She asks timidly.

"I think you're tired and scared and lonely," I reply, honestly. "I think you need protection but you're afraid to ask for it. Your parents left you and you're angry but you don't know how to express that anger. You thought you knew who your mom and dad were but learned they were different people— that'll cause anyone to have nightmares."

She's quiet- too quiet but she doesn't need to say anything for me to know I fucked up. "Spend more time self-reflecting and less analyzing me, Dr. Freud."

She effortlessly rolls off of me and hops out of bed, not even regarding me as she walks into the bathroom, shuts the door, and fucking locks it.

Well, that went horribly.

Santiago walks into the room while I pull up lounge pants. "You already pissed her off?" He comments, handing me a cup of coffee even though it's the middle of the afternoon.

I glare at him and take a sip. "Are you asking me to fire you, Santiago?"  
He shakes his head adamantly. "She's a good kid, sir."

Fuck, me. Elena has the ability to attract anyone. "We have school tomorrow, be sure you have the property covered."

"And what about on the property?"

"I'll be there," I say, without hesitation.

"And what about Ms. Chandler?"

Ainsley Chandler could be a problem because she's proven to be a psycho, but if I'm with Elena, I don't anticipate any problems. "Get dirt on her or her family and text it to me."

Never hurts to have leverage.

He nods, but before he leaves, he pauses for an uncomfortable period of time. "She's a good person," he repeats, indicating the bathroom door where Elena is taking a shower. "She doesn't deserve to be raked through the coals like you usually do with your companions."

"Who says I'm going to rake her through the coals?"

"Your past."

Touche.

This is Elena and none of those other girls affected me the way she does. Probably because of our shared history. Honestly, the other girls were place holders for Elena. I knew we'd find a way back to each other, but I didn't exactly have a timeline.

"Have I ever taken a girl back to my place for longer than a couple of hours?" I counter.

Santi thinks for a moment and then shakes his head. "No, but don't fuck this up. I like her and will gladly work for her instead of you if she asks."

I might fire him. He's around Elena too much, maybe I can't trust him.

Santiago leaves the moment Elena hops out of the shower. She holds a towel around herself and my automatic instinct is to whip it off of her and sink myself into her again, but I hold myself back. Relying on memories of restraint when I had to watch her in school from across the hall or across the classroom.

That restraint keeps me from holding her hostage in bed all day, even though I know she'd like that just based off of her moans from earlier.

"Don't stare at my like that," she mutters, searching for panties in one of the drawers. I doubt she'll find any, I didn't buy a lot.

"Why?" I grunt.

She lifts her head ever so slightly to glance at me. Her look holds about as much desire as I have for her. "I have work tonight and we both have school tomorrow," she points to me, waving her hand up and down my frame. "Those looks do unkind things to my motivation."

Thank God, I didn't have to say it.

"What if I'm okay with that?"  
"I have to graduate, Damon," she says, with a smile on her lips while she searches for leggings. I guess she's not mad at me anymore.

I'm about to make some pointed remark when she says. "Plus Domenico is supposed to contact me."

I hadn't forgotten about that but part of me hoped that problem would disappear. Sure, it was delusional to think that way, but Elena has managed to make a list of enemies that have proven to be dangerous.

"I'll take you to dinner before your shift," I offer. We'd spent most of the day in bed, she hasn't had much to eat.

I hate that she still works at the diner. Our list of problems has grown exponentially and her working at the diner is one more stress she does not need.

Her head tilts to the side in the cutest way, her cheeks glow. "Okay."

I nod and leave her to get ready, while I shower and dress in my room in the main house. I'm dressed and ready when my cell rings.

My lawyer.

"Is this about the property I told you to research?" I ask by way of greeting.

"No, but since we acted early, I'm hopeful," he explains. "We're offering over asking price, so it should be ours within the week. I need to tell you— I discovered something…"

"What did you find out?"

"Nothing good," he replies on the other end.

"Just tell me, Cameron."

"Chase Worthington is out; Frederick Brown's family didn't press charges and evidence that Chase was responsible for the car bombs on Friday didn't stick," he replies.

Fuck.

"There's more," he says. "You know my brother in Vegas?"

"The black sheep of the Lockwood family that decided to use his trust fund to buy a couple strip clubs?"

I hear a grunt of irritation over the phone. "Yeah," an awkward pause. "Something suspicious caught his eye. He told me there's a video of a girl from Mystic Falls that's being shopped around."

"Goddammit!" I yell, almost tossing my cell against the wall. I want to break something, preferably their faces. I want to burn their lives to the ground and piss in its ashes. Those sick mother fuckers filmed what they did to Elena. Godfuckingdammit! "Find out everything you know about the video and I'll buy the rights."

"I'll give my brother a call," he says. "There is good news, Noah Scott didn't make bail."

One down.

"I need that video, Cameron, and I need dirt on Ainsley. Her mom was a reality show celebrity, it can't be that hard," I order. I already have Santiago on it, but it doesn't hurt to have someone else on it as well.

"When someone volunteers to be the subject of tabloid fodder, it can be that hard," he replies. "We need to hire an investigator, like I've been suggesting for the past two weeks."

"I don't trust anyone but you," I reply. "You'd be disbarred if you breached confidentiality, you can't make the same guarantees of a private investigator."

"I have someone I can vouch for," he defends. "A friend from law school. Now's not the time to be stubborn, Damon."

I see Elena walking down the path from the pool house to the main house wearing…fuck, what does she think she's wearing? "Do it, but you don't want to find out what'll happen to you if it backfires."

"There won't be anyone you trust to defend you if you end up in jail, remember that, Damon."

He hangs up.

There's a video being floated around of Elena, the very idea makes me murderous.

"Fuck!" I rage, punching the small leather Everlast bag hanging from my ceiling. I punch bare-knuckled, trying to work things out. I need to get back in the ring.

Not only will this video ruin her future but it'll also get her name out there. The Giovanni and Russo families will know where she is. I wonder if they made her sign something when she was out of it. There's a reason they did this and it was to ruin her reputation and future as she ruined theirs by winning the trial and showing the world who they really were. Noah is in jail without bail, which means they think he's a flight risk. Chase and Frederick are out, which means they're behind it.

Just add it to the ever-growing list of things I'm worried about.

Elena can't know. She's still riding the high from her cross country meet. This will devastate her. I step away from the punching bag, walk to the bathroom to splash water on my face and school my face, place my wallet in my back pocket, and grab the keys to the Maserati. I crave the burn of my dad's single-barrel, twenty-one year aged bourbon. Just something to take the edge off so I can think. I want a drink, but I don't want anyone driving us.

Elena's in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water, waiting for me. She's wearing charcoal black leggings with a long loose black knit sweater that she must've bought when she purchased the outfit she wore on Friday night. A thin tank peeks out between the holes in the knitting and I want nothing more than to push her up against the wall, run my fingers under that sweater and hike her legs up around my waist. I must be wearing my emotions on my face because she rolls her eyes.

"Are you going to be too distracted to drive?"

I smirk, she's a salve to the anger I feel building. "Absolutely."

She plucks the keys out of my hands. "Where are we going?"

I easily take the keys back- she didn't even put up a fight. "Patience is a virtue."

"One that neither of us possess."

She's right about that. I walk her out to the car and make sure she gets in the passenger side before I climb in.

"I thought we'd go to Rocco's," I say, starting the car.

She grows quiet and turns away from me. "I've never been."

Maybe I shouldn't take her there. It's a casual Italian restaurant located close to the school, but it's also close to the diner where she has to work in a little over an hour. Students hang out there after school, or on Fridays but I doubt we'll see anyone on a Sunday. "They have a good eggplant parm."

That seems to perk her up, she moves so she's at least not slouched against the door. I turn the radio on to help with the sudden wall tension that arrived and placed itself between Elena and myself. We shouldn't have left the pool house.

I could just take her directly to work or we could get burgers and eat at the park. But I want to take her on a real date, even if it's just for an hour at a place that's known for large portions and messy food.

We enter the restaurant and are seated in a dark corner booth with a checked table cloth covering the table. The restaurant is fairly busy with families and couples enjoying the unlimited garlic knots and a pitcher of Chianti that's poured by the servers. I'm grateful we came just past the hour because we avoided the hourly rendition of _That's Amore_, sung by the staff. They even hand out a sheet of lyrics so customers can join in. I hate it but I think Elena will like it once she's cooled down a little.

Something is going on and I doubt she'd tell me what's wrong. She hasn't even looked at a menu. Her hair is down and falls over one shoulder as she fidgets in her seat, biting her lip. Someone comes by, fills our glasses with water, and places garlic knots on the table.

Elena remains quiet, looking at her phone. I try to engage her in conversation, but she mumbles polite replies and casts her eyes warily out at the restaurant.

A server finally comes over, a guy I recognize as graduating last year, wearing a black vest over a white dress shirt and a long black apron tied around his waist. "Welcome to Rocco's Italian Kitchen, my name is Kevin, would you like to hear our specials or are you ready to order?"

He impatiently taps his pad and looks at us expectantly. I'm grateful he doesn't bother asking for our drink order first. This date is a disaster and I refuse to give up before I have to take her to work. "Two eggplant parmesans and the Chianti."

When he finally looks up from his pad, his eyes widen in surprise. "You're Damon Salvatore," he laughs, writing down my order. "I thought I recognized you. I'm new here, but I know that you come in a lot. Like, A LOT."

He emphasizes his final words and I add him the list of people I want to punch, lucky for him he's at the bottom of a long list.

"Are you going to stand there and gawk or are you going to put my order in?"

I'm irritated and frustrated and will probably blow if I don't get something in my system to steady my nerves.

To his credit, the server just laughs, says that he's on it, sticks the pen behind his ear, and walks away.

"You don't have to be so rude," Elena chastises, uttering the first complete sentence since the ride here. "You are here _A LOT_. Don't want to insult people who work here."

She emphasizes a lot and now understand her mood, well at least I think I do.

"There you are," I say, popping a garlic knot in my mouth. "I missed you."

Her eyes dart to a corner before the chocolate irises lay on me. "We haven't been out like this before."

"We were at the party," I comment.

"This is like, official," she breathes, her eyes dart back to that corner. I'd look, but it'd be obvious and I don't know how she'll react. "The party was just one of your parties. Plenty of people have seen you with girls at your parties."

"Technically, it wasn't my party."

She tilts her head and lifts an eyebrow. "Technically, it _was_ your party."

"That party was lame, cops broke it up and everything. Plus, velvet drapes— tacky."

"I think you're missing the point," she finally takes a garlic knot, rips it in half, and pops a piece in her mouth. That's a good sign; she's eating.

"What are you worried about?"

She shakes her head. "I like being invisible; sitting in the back where no one could pay me any attention."

I almost laugh but by the serious look on her face, I hold back. "You were never invisible- even when you tried."

Elena sighs heavily, licks her lips, and takes a drink out of the short tumbler of wine they poured her. "I guess."

"You really want to leave, don't you?"

"This place isn't bad," she remarks, indicating the garlic knots.

"I mean Mystic Falls."

"Of course, I want to leave Mystic Falls, don't you?"

Except, I can't. My dad wants me to work for him right out of high school and then go to school if he feels like I need it. He thinks the best learning happens through experience. He isn't wrong, but it would've been nice to be on my own, outside of the city, for a few years. I'm on my own now, but I'm also under my dad's thumb and under his roof. I'm lucky, I know that and my dad's been a neglectful asshole but he's not bad. Not 100%, at least.

"Let's play _How would you…_" I say, hopefully distracting her from my lack of response.

"I actually play this a lot," she comments.

"You do?" I ask, feeling slightly betrayed. I only ever played this game with her.

"On my own, when I'm bored in class."

I laugh lightly, taking a drink of the wine. "Okay, _how would you…_ rob this place?"

She scans the room for a minute, biting her lip, thinking. She watches for a few minutes, an eye on the register, and the front entrance. Then she takes time watching the serving station. This game isn't about speed, it's about the best and most realistic strategy. "Hostesses who work Sunday nights haven't been working as long because the most desirable shift on a Sunday is the brunch shift. She's probably working a Sunday through Thursday schedule, trying to earn her way up into getting a weekend slot."

"How do you know?"

"She's left her station unattended three times in the last ten minutes," Elena takes another sip from her glass. "She has a crush on one of the servers, Kevin— gives him the best tables. She gave him our table," she adds with a wink. "She gets flustered every time he comes over too and ignores the other server— the red headed girl, which is starting to irritate the other server because she's stuck with all the tables with families who need kid's menus."

She indicates the entrance. "Watch this family coming in."

We both watch. The family waits while the hostess seats another table in her crush's section. She sees the family and then looks at her chart.

"She's going to seat them in the red headed's section," she says, indicating the other server. Sure enough, she guides them next to another family and the other server looks murderous.

"So you'd distract them and then go into the register?"

"No," she says with a shake of her head. "Businesses like this run on credit and debit cards. There can't be more than a couple hundred in the register- it's not worth it."

"That's not part of the game."

"I know," she says. "Look."

She indicated back to the hostess who's currently trying to keep her calm while the red headed server yells at her for putting another family in her section. She's carrying a tray of drinks in one hand. "Their backs are to the register," I comment.

"Yes, and they're blocking the only way to the bathroom," she explains. "See that mom with the three kids?"

The young mom is completely overwhelmed with an upset toddler in a highchair while her kids are coloring on the menu. Her asshole of a boyfriend or husband or whoever is on his phone oblivious to the situation.

"I'd walk like I'm going to the bathroom, trip and knock into one of the servers that pours wine and water everywhere. He gets it all over stressed out mom's table. Pissed off server goes to fix the situation, hostess with the crush follows because she feels bad after being yelled at. I walk right past them…"

"—and how are you going to get into the register before you're caught."

"I told you, I'm not stealing money. Look behind the register, right underneath the twelve signed photos of celebrities who've been here."

I look and I don't fucking believe it.

"Framed Joe DiMaggio baseball card," she says. "Signed by the looks of it."

"Has to be worth at least thirty-grande and just sitting there."

"She hasn't been working here long, she probably doesn't know. I'd take it and slip the thin acrylic case the waistband of my leggings- it'd take all of twenty-seconds," she replies.

There's a reason she's top of our class. Elena could do anything with her life but she doesn't know it. I, of course, don't tell her this. "Points for observation skills, creativity, and noticing the most valuable object in the restaurant. However, you failed to come up with a way to get past the security cameras," I observe. "You'd be arrested before you got to the parking lot."

"Pay in cash, leave out of the kitchen exit," she offers with a shrug. "It'd be better if I had a hat or the wig from Friday. I mean I guess doing the "health inspector" routine would've worked on the staff they have tonight, but that's a two person job and the server recognized _you_."

Our food arrives, but Elena still glances at the corner behind me, playing with her fork. "_How would you…. _murder Kevin?"

"Morbid, are we?"

"It's not like we've never used that question before."

I don't even think twice about it. "Send you to flirt with him and then the hostess would do it for me."

She laughs and it's so pure and angelic, no one who heard it would think she was laughing about someone else's murder. She digs into her eggplant parm and we spent the next fifteen minutes drinking, eating, and planning kidnappings, robberies, and at one point we figure out how to convince the staff that we own the restaurant. Elena goes as far as firing the hostess and Kevin for being unprofessional.

Elena's eyes dart behind me occasionally, and finally, when she's in a good enough mood I ask.

"Nothing," she replies. "Don't worry about it."

Unfortunately, that's exactly what I do.

Elena

I was able to get past the fact that he's taken every girl he's fucked to this restaurant. Well, maybe not everyone, but the point is, we just had sex and he decided to take me to a place where he's well…._taken_ a lot of girls. It's just, odd.

Rocco's is a known hang out for Mystic Falls High students, of all the places we could've gone- he chose the one where we were most likely to run into someone? And we did, although Damon doesn't know it yet.

Ainsley is here with Franklin and other students, sitting two booths down, behind Damon. If Damon sees Franklin, I don't know what he'll do. If Ainsley confronts me after Friday, I don't know what I'll do. If we leave in a hurry, they'll surely see us. If I can just sit back and pretend they aren't here, they may leave without noticing.

Maybe if I leave, Damon can meet me outside. No one will bother him. Me? I don't want to hear it when I have four hours of washing dishes in front of me. "I have to use the restroom," I say.

Damon, who's mood went from humorous to ominous in about thirty-seconds doesn't cast me a second look. Now's the time to go. I slip out of the booth and make like I'm going to the restroom. While playing our game, I learned that there's an exit near the restrooms, so I walk past the front desk and down a darkened hallway. One of the doors connects to the kitchen; food runners leave through that door, while another returns through another door with dirty dishes. The exit must be the same one staff use to take a smoke break. I push open the door and on the other side am greeted by Ainsley and Kate. Great. They must've left out the front and circled to the back.

We're standing in the back of the parking lot, near dumpsters. I move to walk away from them but they block my path so I take a step back and step on someone's shoe. I turn to see Frederick and a shudder runs through my body. "So are you three a thing? A thrupple? Cause you all looked pretty cozy sharing that booth in Rocco's. Very open minded of you, but my question is…what's the sleeping situation like?" I point my index finger between them "Is Freddy in the middle and do you two spoon him, or is Ainsley in the middle because she needs the attention?"

Kate raises her hands up and crosses them before quickly slashing them down. "Shut up!" She yells with her hands. "You're not supposed to be back- you're supposed to be dead or out of town."

"Sorry, didn't get the memo."

"You may be here getting cozy with Damon Salvatore, but he does not like you," she says. "He took me here, you know and we sat in that same booth. You're not special."

"I was here with him last week," Ainsley adds.

I knew this but it still stings.

Kate and Ainsley laugh. "Look at her face!"

I hear Frederick chuckle from behind me. "He's said things about you that make _me_ blush. He hates you, don't you see that? We all do. You were banned from his parties; Chase still has the blow-up doll of you Damon gave him."

What?

I need to get out of here. I need to get to work. I need to get away from Frederick.

I move to walk through Ainsley and Kate, but Franklin holds me back, his hands clasped firmly on my upper arms. "You're going to listen to what we have to say and then we'll let you go," he hisses in my ear, spraying spittle all over my cheek.

I try to keep my breathing even. "Then hurry up and talk, because I'm already late for work."

"Damon had his cock in me just last Monday," Ainsley spits out. "You're a phase, part of some revenge plot he's cooking up."

"He despises you," Kate adds. "Told me himself that he thinks you're a waste…."

Her words are quickly cut off. "Get your fucking hands off of her."

Full of animalistic rage, Damon rips me away from Frederick, I fall into Kate and Ainsley and we tumble to the asphalt. I push them off me right as I see Damon pull his right arm back and punch Frederick across the face. Frederick falls to the ground and is completely knocked out. One punch. That's all it took. The fact that Frederick isn't moving doesn't stop Damon, he bends to one knee, lifts Frederick up by the shirt and proceeds to pummel him. He's swearing, calling him words I can't translate. I'm able to make out the words, "Sick fuck."

I think Ainsley and Kate are crying, trying to get Damon to stop. But I can't tear my eyes away from the scene. Once I hear one of them on the phone, it's like someone pressed play on my vision and I can hear what's going on. "Damon, stop!"

He immediately drops Frederick, but it's too late. Almost like it was planned, the police arrive. Damon orders me not to say anything and hands me his keys. "Call Cameron Lockwood, his number is in your phone."

"I'll follow you to the station."

"No," he orders. "I'll be fine, go to work."

Kate and Ainsley are giving their testimonies, and Frederick is being loaded on a stretcher and taken into an ambulance that arrived a minute ago. Damon is cuffed and taken to the squad car. The police ask for my statement, but I explain I want my lawyer present. Looks like no matter what Damon requested, I'm going to the station anyway. Not that I was planning on listening to him.

I call Cameron Lockwood once I get to the car. "Yeah?" he says by way of greeting.

I don't know Cameron, but Damon told me that he's his lawyer and he's apparently good. Hopefully, he's amazing because the outlook for Damon doesn't look so good. Kate was somehow able to take a video of Damon beating the shit out of Frederick— one she's already shown the police. "Damon's been arrested."

Cameron sighs heavily. "What did he do?"

"Knocked out Frederick Brown."

"Well, that's to be expected," he says, which surprises me. I want to know why but he doesn't give me the chance. "Tell me everything, don't leave out a single detail. I'm on my way."

I put the Bluetooth speakers on in the car and explain what happened while I drive to the police station. "Don't say anything until I get there," he instructs. "I have to make a couple of phone calls, but promise me you won't say a single word."

He repeats it like I'm an idiot. I don't know if I like Cameron.

"I won't say anything."

Then he hangs up.

Okay, then.

I call Gary and explain that I'm going to be late for work. He yells but when I explain that he can stack up however many dishes he wants and I'll stay until I get them all done, he calms down. Right now, nothing sounds better than scrubbing a pile of dishes- except maybe a long run.

I avoid thoughts about what Kate and Ainsley said. They obviously wanted to rile me up before Damon came out. It's how they planned it, but something nags at the back of my brain. The comment about the blow-up doll.

The night I went with Rafe to Damon's party, they wrote nasty comments about me on a blow-up doll. They said Damon would kill them…but Damon has cameras everywhere. Maybe he'd kill them for not waiting for him to make fun of the blow-up doll version of me. Or…what if that wasn't the first time they made fun of me in that way. Damon's tortured me for the last few years, he was angry with me. He said as much and I deserved it after what I did. But it doesn't take away from the fact that it happened.

And who knows what happened last week when I practically forced Ainsley on him. She's gorgeous in a southern way, with big hair, big blue eyes, and big other things. Her mom is famous or something, so I can see how some people would find her whole situation attractive. Somehow, it doesn't seem like Damon would do that to me. Not after everything we've been through.

I walk into the station and am told to sit by an officer's desk while we wait for Cameron to arrive. Cameron looks like someone Damon would hire. He's in his mid-thirties, tall, broad, and has piercing green eyes. He doesn't even look at me, instead, he asks for the person in charge of Damon's case, and in a total of ten minutes, Damon is out of custody.

Cameron is magical.

He genially shakes everyone's hand, while Damon and I leave, walking in silence to his car. I was in there for a total of fifteen minutes- max. Either Cameron is really good or the Mystic Falls Police Department has just been given a sizable donation from the Salvatore screw-up fund.

Damon doesn't argue when I get in the driver's side. It's when we're sitting in the car that I feel the rage and anger come off him in waves. He's possessed and I'm suddenly reminded that I haven't known him for almost four years- there's a gap in our story.

The sun has long gone down as I start the car and drive for five minutes down the road when he orders me to pull over into a park. I drive down a small street that takes me deeper into the park. The moment I put the car in park the car, Damon jumps out, running his hands through his hair- looking crazed.

I don't have time for this. I was scared out of my mind driving to the police station and sitting and waiting. All because he couldn't control himself. He just had to take out Frederick when I had the situation perfectly under control. I open the car door, step out, and walk over to him. "Get back in the car, I don't have time for this. I'm going to be late, Damon."

He strides toward me growling. No words, just pure hunger as cups my cheeks and devours my lips. I feel myself slam against the hood of his car. The hood bites into my back, contrasting with the way he consumes me, the pain is delicious. Our kiss is bruising and as brutal as his dark, possessive mood. His hands move to my leggings, tugging then down my thighs. Thanks to my large, knit sweater, if anyone looked on they'd see two people making out- not the things he's doing with his fingers in my panties.

Then he does something so horrible and mean, I want to punch him. He tosses my shoes through the open car window and yanks the leggings off. Sure my sweater is long enough to cover things, but it's still rude. "Was that really necessary?" I yell, shoving him off of me.

I make to pick up my leggings, but he savagely grabs me by the waist and props me back on the black hood of the Maserati so he can devour my neck. A ragged moan escapes my lips as his hands reach beneath my sweater. It feels so good, I hate him for it. "You're going to give me what I want, for once in your fucking life," he utters as I let out a moan.

I'm not arguing, even if my brain says he's acting like an asshole. The needy tightening of my sex overrules my sensibility. My fingers dig beneath his black v-neck shirt so I can feel his flesh and bring him closer. He takes that as an invitation to pull the cups of my bra down from beneath my tank and tweak my nipple while his other hand palms my sex and rubs in slow circular motions. The combination of the roughness of his fingers and the slow speed causes me to cry out in a voice I don't recognize. She sounds wild and carefree.

His fingers are wet with my juices and he uses the lubrication to slide his fingers up and down my slit while his mouth makes its way up to my lips. He dominated my mouth, just like he dominated every other part of me. His tongue slides in and twists with my own. His index finger purposefully circles my clit once…twice…and then plunges into my sex.

I cry out at the sudden invasion. And then he does it again, except this time he plunges two fingers in. I move my hips, riding his fingers until he bends his finger slightly and finds a spot that undoes me. I feel a flush spread all over me as pleasure engulfs my senses. But Damon isn't done, he removes his hands and flips me around so my palms are on the hood of the car. I haven't even come down from my orgasm when he moves my panties aside and his cock plunges into me balls deep.

"Fuck!" I yell. I am painfully full, but he doesn't slow down. He pumps in and out of me while holding me steady. I feel him tighten but he stops. He places his hand, slick from my juices on my chin, and tilts it so he can take my mouth and consume me there like he's consuming every other area. With his other hand, from behind me, he reaches around my hips, reaches into my lace panties, and strokes my clit.

Then, he starts moving again in tune with his strokes. "It's too much," I pant, but it comes out desperate like I want more and fuck me, I do.

"You'll take it," he replies, his mouth moving to the back of my neck while his thrusts quicken. I feel myself tighten around his cock, and he comes with a bite to my neck. I scream, feeling him empty himself into me but then he pulls out and I feel wetness on my back. I don't even look, I know what he did. He massages it into my backside, even moving my tank up so he can spread his seed all over me. It's dirty and wrong and I love every second of it. I even love the fact that I should hate this degradation.

When he's done, he leaves me sprawled on the hood of his car for a few seconds. He places my cell phone in my hand— I'm still recovering. I think my heart rate is the same as it is after I run a race. He places a gentle kiss on my neck. "You're going to call work and tell Gary your quitting."

"You can't—

He interrupts me by placing a hand in-between my spine and leaning into me between my legs. It's an incredibly strategic position and one-hundred percent asshole-y.

"You don't need to work there, we already have too much to worry about. You are being a stubborn little brat by holding onto that job when it can go to someone who actually needs it. You are above dishwashing, Elena," he states into my ear.

I sigh, still refusing because Domenico might contact me there and I really don't want to get on his bad side.

"Either you do it, or I'll make you walk in with your leggings wet with my cum and I'll be right there to remind any busboy, server, or Gary what's all over you and what you're still thinking about," he adds.

Why do his words make me wet with need?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I dial the number while Damon runs his hands up my sweater and kisses me from behind on the neck. "Good, girl."

I shove him off. "I'm not a dog, Damon!"

He remains unmoved and chuckles into my neck.

I'm still plastered to the hood of the car with Damon casually leaning into me, keeping me there. We both have a thing for cars. This is turning into a problem. I may need to go to a support group—preferably not one in the basement of a church.

Gary picks up and yells at me, which is to be expected considering I've committed and I'm late. "I'm sorry, Gary. I have a lot going on with it being senior year. I can't work at Patty's anymore."

I hear a resigned sigh at the other end. "To be honest, I was hoping you would."

"But you just yelled at me!"

"I read the paper, Elena. I know about the trial and what you've been going through. I was the one that pulled you from the front of the diner," he explains.

"Only because I was getting harassed."

"And it was my job to protect my employee, you know the customer isn't always right. I should've kicked out those kids, not sent you to the kitchen," he says, regret in his voice. "You had to fight to keep the job, my first instinct was to fire you."

"It's fine, Gary. You gave me a job when I needed it."

"Surprisingly, you turned out to be a good dishwasher," he adds.

Damon moves off of me so I can sit up. "It wasn't so bad."

"You can pick up your last paycheck on Friday, at least say goodbye, okay?"

"Okay."

I hang up the phone and sit there for a couple of seconds, feeling kinda relieves. I hop off the hood and walk to the driver's side barefoot. I don't bother to grab my leggings. Damon does, he has them in his fist as he climbs into the car. "Don't expect me to be that compliant again."

He grunts, looking out the window.

I don't know what's on his mind as I start the car, but his mood went right back to dangerous. In the years since I've known him, he has changed. We may talk about the past or play games that we used to play, but these games are different— darker, and I can't decide if I like it or am scared by the thought that he could drag me to the depths with him.


	24. Chapter 24

Author's note: As I have said, this is a darker fic and this chapter brings up some things that happened in Chapter 16. This fic is called Lovesick Toxicity for a reason. There's still a lot of this fic left, so I hope that you enjoy the journey...because let me tell you, it's going to be a_ journey_. Both Damon and Elena are incredibly flawed and have a long way to go. Thank you for reading and thank you for the kind reviews! Enjoy :)

Chapter 24

Elena

"I'm only wearing this because you hid all of my other clothes," I defend, standing by his car, getting ready to walk into school in an outfit unlike anything I've ever worn before.

Damon wraps an arm around my shoulder. "You forfeited the game, so I won by default."

I shake his arm off, still not over his mood from last night. I left him in the car last night and stomped back to the pool house alone. It wasn't until three in the morning that I felt his arms wrap around me and move me so I was in my Damon cocoon with his warm limbs holding me captive.

By the time my alarm went off, he was gone, along with all my clothes. Hanging up in the bathroom was an incredibly expensive designer school girl outfit with a note pinned to it, "I won."

I'll admit, I almost wore the tank and boxers I wore to bed, just to see what Damon would do. Considering his mood, I decide it's not the time to test the limits of his sense of humor.

I know the outfit's expensive because the tags were still on- like he left it there to remind me that this wasn't your typical trashy outfit. A Burberry plaid mini skirt, a white button-down Carolina Herrera dress shirt, and a black oversize Alice + Olivia blazer— I mention these brand names because if you ripped off the label, I would've thought the outfit was purchased from a Party City. The knee-high socks and heals were overkill, so I didn't even think about wearing them.

By the time I put on the ensemble, complete with matching lace underthings, I decided the most humiliating aspect of this outfit is the fact that I don't wear anything like this to school. I wear overalls or jean shorts and if it's cold jeans. Notice a theme? Comfort is what I go for, not fashion. Believe me, I love fashion, I know who all the famous designers that hired people to design my clothing are— I don't see the point of dressing this way at school, because when I'm there, I want to learn not make a statement or become Insta-famous.

In all honestly, it's not that bad. Once I remove the knee-high socks and heels and replace them with Doc Martin boots, it's not something I'd choose to wear, but it's cute— I guess. I shift slightly in the mirror, making sure my skirt is long enough and my shirt doesn't bunch up. I pushed up the sleeves of the oversized blazer and I decide that it gives the school girl look a modern vibe— and the skirt follows dress code, thank the good lord.

I don't wear makeup and pull my hair in a top knot as a way to tell Damon that I do not approve of his antics and meet him in the kitchen of the main house where he has a travel mug of coffee waiting for me. He doesn't say anything, but gives me an approving smirk before handing me a new bag to put my books in and leading me out to his car.

Now here we are, standing in front of the school.

"Let's leave," I suggest.

Damon looks out at the building alongside me. "I'm fine with that, but you do realize you'd have to go through this all over again tomorrow, right?"

I let out a long sigh. "Yeah."

I take a sip of my coffee and am so caught off guard by the taste that I spit it out, spraying it everywhere. "Seriously, Damon?"

"I thought it'd help calm your nerves."

He isn't wrong.

I take another sip, this time letting it slowly go down my throat and warm my insides. "As long as I don't have a noticeably high blood alcohol level by third period, I appreciate the thought."

He glances sideways at me. "We can ditch this place for the day and go to Falls City," he offers.

I heave another big sigh and take a step toward the entrance. "Thanks to you, I look fucking stupid."

He leans down, matching my stride as we walk. "You know what I see?"

"Hmm?"

"Confidence, intelligence, the funniest person I know," he places a well position palm on my ass. "With a great ass that has easy access in that skirt for her boyfriend."

I slap his hand away. "Neanderthal!"

But I'm also smiling because it put me at ease.

People stare as we walk in together, but considering I'm used to it, it doesn't bother me. Damon sticks to my side like glue as we walk through the hallway. The closer we get to my locker, the louder the comments get. Most people say, "what the fuck" or "no way" but it's not as bad as the scathing remarks. Scathing remarks as simple as "Is this another one of Damon's pranks?"

Senior hall is a different story. Before we enter the long hallway, Damon wraps his arm around my shoulders and walks in step with me. By the way he holds me, it's like we're joined at the hip. I don't think air could pass through our bodies. No one says anything, they just stare as Damon strides toward my locker. In clusters they watch, waiting to see who the first to comment is.

Jessica Snyder is the first to make her move. Her petite body filling out a maroon cheerleading uniform, she prances toward us. "Damon, can you help me get a book from my locker? You helped me put it away last week, and now I can't reach it!"

Did he, now?

She tugs on his arm. "It'll only take a minute, please Damon!"

Damon pays her no attention, but I do not. "I can help you, Jessica!"

She frowns. "I don't think you can reach it, it's really high up."

"Oh, when I set my mind to something, you'd be surprised by what I can accomplish."

"It's just that, while you were mysteriously gone last week, Damon was ever so helpful. He bought me lunch when I forgot my lunch money, he carried me to my car after I was injured during cheer practice, and he took the time to help me with my math homework during study hall. The fact is, if you weren't here, he'd be helping me get the chem book out of my locker," she says, so sweetly that I want to vomit.

"The fact is, sweetie, I am here," I state with a shrug of my shoulders. "And if you need help getting that fucking book out of your locker, I'll gladly do it and then shove it up your lying ass."

There's a hush and then a stifled laugh breaks out- a laugh that only happens when you have to laugh but you know you can't. Jessica is about to say something, but Kate comes prancing over. The two woodland creatures, with big doe eyes give me the nastiest look their pinched faces can muster. "Just because you won the case against Noah, does not make you a victor in our eyes, Elena. You will always be the stripper daughter of drug dealer."

Not able to take any more, Damon pushes me against a nearby locker and captures my lips with his. Our kiss is worthy of HBO, it's dirty and so consuming, I forget that about fifty students are looking on. His right hand slides against my thigh and clasps firmly beneath my knee so he can hike it up and get closer. I know what he's doing and the moment his tongue slides against mine, I decide I do not care.

Damon Salvatore, the Prince of Darkness, does not do public displays of affection like this. He pays no attention to the girls that sit on his lap during lunch and the fact that Jessica is claiming he helped her put a book away is laughable. The Prince of Darkness does not do nice. Even right now, he's downright cruel with the things that he's doing with those velvet lips while his hand runs up and down my thigh.

Damon doesn't break away on his own, an administrator has to break us up. Specifically, Principal Hale. "Split it up, you two! This inappropriate display will not be tolerated in the halls of this school."

Damon doesn't listen. To make a point, I think, although, by the way he's kissing me he could simply not hear Principal Hale's bland voice. I don't stop him. Damon smells like his sandalwood shampoo and coffee and I don't want him to leave me. "More," I moan into his ear, biting on his lobe.

My back bites into a combination dial of the locker as he closes the gap between our bodies. His head tilts down toward my ear. "You like this, don't you?" He whispers into my ear. "Me kissing you like this in front of everyone who's hated you since you walked through those doors wearing those fucking jean shorts."

"Yes," I breathe, as a shudder runs through me.

Then a completely different feeling runs through me: shame. The bell rings and it's like someone turned up the volume, Damon is still making out with my neck, but I'm easily able to push him off of me.

Principal Hale stands a couple of feet away, his arms folded, wearing a look of irritation. "You two, come with me."

I wipe my mouth in embarrassment, while Damon looks beyond Principal Hale, at the audience that gathered to watch the Prince of Darkness make a statement. He wears a lazy smirk and his eyes smolder at the crowd. "First time I've been called to the principal's office for making out in the hallways," he says to the crowd. "Probably won't be the last."

That. There. That's what he was trying to do. Make a point. I'm the only person he's ever publicly made out with like this. It shuts up Jessica and Kate, who both look like they swallowed something foul.

"That's enough, Mr. Salvatore," Principal Hale says.

I'm standing like an idiot, completely caught off guard by what just transpired. Damon wraps an arm around my shoulder and guides me to the front office behind the principal. Principal Hale makes me wait in a chair outside his office while he talks to Damon. Damon isn't in there for but a minute when he leaves, holding a slip of paper that looks like a hall pass. Great. Damon will get off scot-free while I'll probably end up with detention.

"Keep your phone on," he says, leaving the front office to go to his first class of the day.

"Ms. Gilbert!" The principal calls from his door.

I stand up and walk into his office. He closes the door behind him but instead of taking the seat across his desk as he sits in his leather high-back chair, I remain standing.

"You need to stay away from Damon Salvatore- he's dangerous."

Well, I did not expect our conversation to go this way.

"Why do you say that?"

"In this town, you need money and a name in order to be powerful, and he has both. He'll only break you," he pauses, moving forward in his chair, he places his hands on his desk, intertwining his fingers. "I heard about the race on Saturday. I never thought you'd amount to much but you proved me wrong. Top of the graduating class, won state, and based on the phone calls I've been receiving, the choice of any college. If you stay with Damon Salvatore, he'll only bring you down."

This coming from the man that objectified me in his office not too long ago. Now that I won the case and brought down Noah, I'm suddenly a perfect representative of Mystic Falls High School and I make him, the principal, look good. "What did you say to Damon?"

"Told him to keep it PG in the hallways," he replies, simply. He signs a slip and hands it to me. "Go to class."

And here I was thinking I'd possibly get suspended. Is this how it feels to be on top? Did I replace Noah as one of Mr. Hale's favorites?

I take the slip. "Thank you, Principal Hale."

I turn to walk out. "Oh, Ms. Gilbert?"

I turn on my heels back around. His fingers indicate my outfit. "This look is much more reflective of your potential."

There it is.

I was waiting for it, the bastard. "Thanks, Damon picked it out for me."

I spin back around and walk out the door with a smile on my face.

XXX

"Where were you last week?"

I turn in my desk to see Caroline sitting next to me in the back, her blonde hair perfectly styled and lying sleekly down her back while her blue eyes look imploringly in mine. "Why do you care?"

"You won the case and then you disappear for over a week," she says. "Next thing I know, you're winning some big cross country meet, and Principal Hale wants to know if there's room for you on student government."

"Well, rest assured Caroline, I won't be seeking out a spot on your illustrious council," I reply.

"I didn't know you were number one in the class," she continues, ignoring my comment. "I'm in the top ten, but Kidd's AP Physics class killed me Junior year. How did you pass it?"

This is how little she thinks of me? Am I that surprising to everyone? I've known Caroline since we were kids, I guess it goes to show you how quickly rumors become facts in people's minds.

"I studied," I state.

"Really?" She continues. "Because people are saying you blew Mr. Kidd after the final exam."

"The magnitude of the total force acting on a ball rolling without slipping down a ramp is greater than the magnitude of the total force acting on the same ball if it slides down the ramp without friction," I explain. When she looks dumbfounded, I continue. "The magnitude of the velocity of an object must change if the magnitude of its acceleration is a constant."

"What?"

"Exactly," I state. "Physics requires logic, and if you believed everything everyone said about me after knowing me for as long as you have, clearly you lack logic."

I'm not satisfied with the look on her face. I'm saddened by it because I thought that one day we'd be able to repair what we had but clearly I was wrong. The teacher saves Caroline from having to utter a response, and instead, lectures for the next hour about cultural geography in ancient China. I take notes until I feel my phone vibrate. I secretly look at it and see that it's a text from Damon, "The teacher isn't looking, leave now!"

I sit up and look out the door window. No one is there. When I look at our teacher, she is in fact writing on the whiteboard with her back to the class. I glance around at the class and find that no one is really paying attention. Most people are either asleep or on their phones. I could easily slip out without anyone noticing that I left. Instead of raising my hand and asking to go to the bathroom, like any sane high school student, I wait for Caroline to turn away, silently grab my things and walk out. The moment I step foot outside, Damon pops up out of nowhere, grabs my forearm, and hauls me into an empty nearby classroom. He tugs me past the empty desks and lackluster bulletin boards. With his hands on my waist, he lifts me up on a teacher's desk and paces back and forth in front of me.

He looks stressed.

I can't help but laugh. "You okay?"

He waves his hand as paces. "I can't decide…"

"Can't decide what?" I reply, crossing my legs and leaning back by placing my palms on the desk and jutting out my chest.

He finally stops and stares at me. "I spent all of first period fantasizing what I would've done with you if we hadn't been interrupted and now that you're here, I can't decide where to start."

I chuckle. "Well, that's quite a problem."

He runs his hands through his hair, like the image of me is torture. "You have no idea."

"You know, Principal Hale told me to stay away from you," I goad.

He pauses, his eyes do that thing that makes me want to drop to my knees. "Did he now?"

"Mmm-hmm," I hum with a pop of my lips.

It's like something sets in him, his eyes darken and he seems taller and broader. "Take off your blazer."

I hop off the desk and shrug off the jacket. Damon doesn't let it fall to the floor, instead, he takes it and folds it over a desk chair.

"Turn around and place your hands on the edge of the desk."

I swallow. "Why?"

Not at all liking my hesitation, he strides over, places his hands on my hips, and flips me over. His slowly graze along my arm and holding me by my wrists, position them where he wants them. He pulls the bun out of my hair and runs his fingers through my locks before gently sweeping it to one side.

"Damon, we don't have time," I whisper, praying he doesn't listen to me.

With his chest firmly pressed against my back, his lips kiss the spot just below my ear. "Haven't we already established that you'd like it if my cock was deep inside you, slowly pumping in and out while these people that treated you like trash, watched me worship you?"

I moan at his words. Damon flips my skirt up and runs his hand along my backside. "I have thought about this ass, filling out those little shorts you wear, for too long."

"Really?"

His lips move to the back of my neck before his hand moves from my backside to my chest. His fingers play with the buttons of my blouse. "And these tits in those sports bras you wear during practice."

It only takes a slight tug, and he's ripped open the blouse. A couple buttons ping to the floor. "I liked this shirt, Damon," I chastise.

"I'll buy you another one," he replies, his hands reaching underneath my camisole and shoving the cups of my bra down so he can play with my hardened nipples.

"Oh, God," I cry. The combination of his lips on my neck, his fingers on my breasts, and my ass exposed in an empty classroom quickly bring back the interrupted feelings I had in the hallway.

"You are a need, Elena," he states. "Like air, water, and food, I need you and when I'm not with you…." He hesitates…his fingers pause their ministrations. "…I'm dying."

"Then don't leave me."

His fingers reach into my panties. "Do you mean that?"

What does he mean by this? Is this dirty talk or does he really think I never want to leave him? I don't to a degree, but we don't have all our classes together and even though the cross country season is over, I don't want him to accompany me on my runs and I don't want us to be joined at the hip.

He takes my hesitation for rejection, which only makes him more crazed. "I won't let you leave me," he argues. "I will make you need me like I need you."

With that, his fingers expertly press into my clit. He's not messing around, because he doesn't wait for me to recover from that sensation, he plunges two fingers inside me. I cry out, but it doesn't stop his assault. With his other hand, his hand grazes the top of my panties and pulls down with such force, they rip off and drop to my ankle. The combination of the friction of his hardened length concealed by jeans along with his long fingers playing with me like I am in this classroom only to be molded to his pleasure, I come undone. A moan that I don't realize is my own escapes my lips.

I feel the cool air of the classroom on my backside as Damon moves away. My thoughts are confirmed when I hear his zipper come down. I turn my head to see him holding his cock in his hands, rubbing up and down his length. He runs the tip of his cock along my backside tauntingly. "Do you want me to give this to someone else?"

Oh, God. If anyone came near him, I don't know whatever it is would force me to have use Diego Romano as my one phone call. Instead of letting him taunt me, I spin around and drop to my knees. The cold tile doesn't feel great on my knees, but I don't care. I slap his hands away and replace them with my own. My fingers don't fit completely around his length, but I don't care because I only tug a couple of times before wrapping my lips around his cock. Damon does not mess around, he groans and taking a fistful of my hair thrusts into my welcome mouth. With my fingers grasping his thighs for support, I let him abuse my mouth with his long, thick cock.

Damon only allows this to go on for a minute before he places his hands underneath my arms and hauls me to my feet. Then he flips me back around, presses me against the teacher's desk, and thrusts into me. We both let out a groan together. "Don't you see, baby?"

He says while he's balls deep in me. He grasps my chin, turns me to face him, and captures my lips with his. It's our first kiss since entering the room and I know we both needed it. He sucks my tongue, much like I sucked his cock before thrusting long and slow. In and out, taking his time like we don't have a class in a few minutes. "We need each other," he finishes.

Damon's hands slide beneath the hem of my now untucked blouse and beneath my white camisole. His fingers leave a painful trail from my navel to my breast. "Our journey is worthy of Shakespeare."

"So, we're tragic," I sigh, feeling myself tense up again.

His lips graze my ear. "Quite the opposite."

"How so?"

"You could've been born halfway around the world and my heart would've founded you," he whispers. "Because in order to breathe, we need each other. When you wake up in my arms, I exhale."

"When I see you after a long day and you make me laugh, I inhale. You pump oxygen into my veins," I whisper back.

Damon withdraws himself from me completely, turns me around so I'm facing him, and places me on the edge of the teacher's desk. His fingers adoringly cup my chin as his head lowers and he kisses me, truly like I am something he needs to survive. I know it's not true. I know we're lust and a lot of how we feel is pent up emotions. But I allow myself to enjoy his kiss, and when he thrusts his cock inside me, I enjoy being at the receiving end of his lust.

Damon cups my bare ass and brings me to him. I rely on my one leg firmly planted to the tile for support. I reach beneath my skirt and press against my clit, and the moment I do, I feel myself tighten around Damon's cock and I feel him spill inside me.

As we ride our orgasms, Damon runs his tongue along my clavicle, up my neck, until he's kissing me with such fervor, I almost believe the words he said. "Again," he says.

I shake my head and push him off. "I've got trig and you can't miss gym. I know you ditch when you can."

"You could come with me," he suggests, not caring that the class is only for guys. "We could run around the track together and I could teach you how to throw a punch."

"Yeah, I'm sure Coach Blackstone would love that," I reply, still sitting bare-assed on the desk. Damon goes to the sink in the back of the classroom and wets a couple paper towels. When he walks back, I make to grab them, but he shoves my hands away and on his knees, cleans me up. When he's done, he sweetly kisses my labia and it takes everything in me to not try to ride his face at this angle.

His hands clasp around the shredded remnants of my panties and pockets them. "Sorry you no longer have underwear."

He does not sound sorry.

I shrug, innocently. "Easy access for Rafe. I have my next class with him, after all."

"Take it back!"

I stand and straighten my shirt before putting my blazer back on. "You're the one that put me in a school girl's uniform. Whatever happens is on you."

I hear him curse and realize that he doesn't think I'm joking. "I am two seconds away from flipping you over my shoulder and taking you off campus for the day."

"Well, that would be a nice view for everyone, given that you ripped my panties."

A growl.

I laugh and place a placating hand on his shoulder. "Damon, let this moment serve as a reminder to not leaving me bare-assed beneath a skirt because you couldn't control yourself."  
His eyes smolder.

"Oh my God," I say, finally figuring it out. "You like me bare because it'll leave me needy. You already know I'll make sure no one sees what's beneath this incredibly expensive plaid skirt."

He doesn't deny it.

"Asshole!" I shout, pushing him away from me.

I grab the backpack that fell off the floor and sling it over my shoulders.

"I'll see you at lunch!"

"If you think I'm going to sit with you at lunch, you're crazy," I throw back.

I feel a tug at my wrist, which I easily yank free from. Damon stands in my way of leaving, wearing an incredibly scary expression. With his black v-neck shirt and low slung dark jeans, he's an imposing force. "Do you really want to find out what'll happen if I don't get to seat you firmly on my knee in the middle of the cafeteria?"

I. SEE. RED.

"Do I need to remind you that I am not Ainsley, or Kate, or Jessica, or any of the other girls in your contacts?" I fix the remaining button on my shirt so it doesn't look as though it was ripped off. "I am not a member of your fan club."

"You're not?" He casts his eyes down, looking somewhat offended. This only irritates me.

I push him away from me, and he's so caught off guard he stumbles back- but not by much. It's a joke, really. Like a fly landed on him and he stepped back to flick it away. "Ugh," I grunt loudly. How can he not get this? "I am the fan club!" I yell. "There should be no competition because it should only be me, the treasurer, secretary, and president!"

And with that, he's so taken aback that I'm able to leave out of the classroom door without him stopping me. I run to the bathroom to clean myself up. I keep a bunch of disposable, single-use toothbrushes in my bag, along with wet wipes for when I have practice. My cheeks are flushed and my hair looks…well, freshly fucked. Damon has my hair tie, so I run my fingers through it and try to tame it as much as possible before the next bell.

Once I'm sure I can sit through my next class without offending anyone, I walk toward AP Chemistry and sit at one of the lab tables in the back. Everyone sits down and the professor explains that because I was gone when they reassigned lab partners I could either work in a group of three or work by myself. I decide to work on my own, relieved by the solace.

The professor is explaining chemical equilibrium when another student walks into the room and hands the teacher a note. He reads it before calling my name. "Elena Gilbert, the principal wants to talk to you."

I put my textbook and notebook back in my bag before walking through the rows of desks to the teacher's desk. On my way to the front, someone sticks out their leg. It's so juvenile that I decide to go along with it, except instead of tripping, I kick their shin. I hear a curse and don't bother to acknowledge who it is, except I can narrow it down to a girl based off the shoe choice. I take the pink slip from the teacher, thank him, and walk out.

What did I do? Is this about this morning? Did someone see Damon and I go into that classroom together? These thoughts swirl through my mind until I make it to the front office. I expected to see Damon sitting in one of the chairs outside of Principal Hale's office, but I don't see him or any other student in the office. I offer Janice a smile and hand her the pink slip. "Principal Hale wanted to see me?"

She nods her head, but I can't tell if it's to me or her computer monitor. "You can go on in."

Great.

I walk behind her desk and open the door, but Principal Hale isn't at the other end of the door. It's a very good looking, impeccably dressed, Italian maffioso. "Proving a point, Dom?"  
He sits behind the principal's desk like he owns it. I'm more intimidated by him than I ever was of Principal Hale. Although, that could be the holster I see peeking out of his black Armani jacket. "I am very sad, Ms. Gilbert."

My stomach lurches. Surely he won't shoot me right here, although, even after Principal Hale's comments this morning, I highly doubt he'd mind if I was shot dead. I'm sure Moretti would pay him well for the use of his office. "Well, the school psychologist's office is two doors down. I suggest you talk to her about your feelings."

He laughs. "I am sad because I found out that half my Chirow was confiscated by the police. This will not do, Ms. Gilbert."

Oh shit.

"I sold all of your product, Dom," I defend. "Just as we agreed."

He nods in slight approval. "This, I know. But I believed I explained that I want my product on the streets, not in the evidence room of the Mystic Falls Police Department."

"It's not my fault what happens after I sell your product!" I yell desperately. "How was I supposed to know he'd get caught?"

"You should not have sold that much to one person," he explains.

"Ohhhhh!" I drag out the _oh_ with dripping sarcasm. "I am so sorry that I didn't understand the finer points of drug dealing my first time out!"

"Sit down, Ms. Gilbert."

"No!"

He reaches into his jacket, takes the gun out of his holster, and places it on the same desk where Hale wrote me a late excuse slip just a few hours earlier. "Sit down."

I don't move, instead, I glare at him. "So are you and Michael Hale buddies or something?"

"I do not like this man. He is very irritating, but owes me many favors," his hands motion for me to sit, which I do not.

"You need me, you're not going to shoot me," I observe. "The least you can do is ask nicely and not order me around like I'm one of your goons."

His dark eyes blaze into mine. I am about a second from following his orders when he says, "Ms. Gilbert, please sit down."

I nod my head appreciatively. "Of course!"

I stride over to the desk and politely sit down in the chair across from his desk. When I've settled, he presses a button on the phone. "Janice, please bring me and Elena coffee."

My eyes widen. "You really know how to weld your power, don't you? Bossing around high school secretaries? What's next? Are you going to order the driver's ed instructor to take you home?"

He tilts his head to the side and gazes at what I'm wearing. "I could make you get on your knees, crawl under this desk, and wrap those sassy lips around my cock."

Well, that shut me up. No thank you, although I do squirm slightly in my chair. Goddamn Damon, forcing me to go commando.

"You are flushed," he observes.

"And you think it's because of you?" I laugh, hopefully convincingly. "I knew today was my deadline, but I thought you'd call me first. I didn't expect you to interrupt my chemistry class. I have the money, it's at home in a safe place."

"We can get it together," he suggests.

I didn't expect this. If he drives me home, he's going to see a stripper living there. I can't let him take me to Damon's because he can't know I live there. "I have class," I explain. "I can bring it to wherever you're at, later."

"That is not how this works."

"Why? What's the difference between now and six hours from now?"

"Because I want it now, not six hours from now," he explains. "However, I could be forgiving…that is if you still want the documents your father left you."

Did I just fall into a trap? He knew I wouldn't have the money, so he ambushed me here?

I heave a heavy sigh. I really am sick of this bullshit. "Cut the manipulation tactics and tell me what you want, or are you going to continue to hold the items my dead father left me over my head."

Blatantly interrupting us. Janice walks in with a tray of two cups, sugar, cream, and a coffee press. She places it on the table and excuses herself. Domenico takes time pouring us each a cup. I refuse my coffee with a glare. "What do you want, Dom?"

He takes a long sip of his coffee and glances at me. "You are not drinking your coffee."

"It'll taste like shit and I want to get this over with- rip the bandaid off and all that," I explain.

Dom doesn't care, he continues to patiently sip his coffee. "I have never seen you dressed like this."

Oh jeez.

"You are missing a couple of buttons," he observes.

Yes, I am.

"Is this some sort of torture tactic they teach you in capo school?"

"You are upset?"

"Of course, I'm upset. I sold your fucking drugs, but didn't expect you to want them while I was at school!" I yell.

"Language, Ms. Gilbert."

I sigh, in a resigned sort of way. Dom likes to keep things friendly, even if there's a gun in between the two of us. "So, how do you know Michael Hale?"

"He is a cousin."

I give him my most skeptical look.

"On my sister-in-law's side," he explains.

"Very loyal family," I mutter.

"My little brother did not marry in the Cosa Nostra."

"And you didn't disown him?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "He is family but he is also an idiot."

"So he followed his dick instead of his brain?"

"Something like that."

I nod. "Well, Principal Hale is a jackass, so if his sister is anything like him, I'd actually find myself feeling sorry for you."

"We wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Nope."

Dom reaches into his jacket and pulls out a smartphone. "You will deliver a shipment to the location on this phone."

I take the phone and play with it momentarily. "So this is so I can find the location and so you can track me?"

A nod.

"I'll deliver your shipment, but I'm ditching the phone once I deliver it, understood? You have no right to track my whereabouts, not when you already have so much control over my life."

He reaches into his jacket again, and for a moment, I think he's going to pull out another gun and shoot me. Instead, it's a set of keys and an envelope full of cash. "You will leave now. I have talked to Hale and he knows you will not be at school for a couple of days."

I just missed school!

Then he does something incredibly unexpected. He reaches under the desk and hands me a bag. "This has all of the materials for the classes you are missing. There is a blue compact SUV parked behind the school, near the bleachers where you eat lunch." I ignore that little detail. "You will do this alone, if anyone helps you as they did on Friday with Chirow, I will burn the information your Grayson Gilbert left."

I…

"What am I transporting?"

"It is best if you do not know," he explains. "If you run into trouble call Diego."

Fuck! What am I supposed to do? Damon will know I've skipped out and he'll want to know why. Not to mention, Santiago and Mal are stationed outside the school…but not behind the school. What's behind the school other than grass and the track? "It's parked near the cafeteria loading dock?"

"Between two Sysco trucks."

Walking to the car is going to be even more tricky because the halls are empty. Anyone who sees me will report to Damon, it's a guarantee. He probably knows I'm in Hale's office right now. I wouldn't be surprised if he was waiting outside the door. Even if he's not, the bell for lunch is about to ring.

I really hate to do what I'm about to do, so I have to ask. "No more tricks, Domenico. I need those files Grayson left me. If I do this, I need you to give me your word I'll get all of the documents he left me."

He casually takes another sip of his coffee. "I will and I'll even let you keep the money you collected selling my drugs."

That's…thousands of dollars. That's college money. "Deal."

"The cash in the envelope will pay for gas and hotel," he adds, then slides the gun across the desk toward me. ME? "Take this for your safety."

"Am I going to be in a situation where I'll need it?"

"Probably."

"Not very reassuring, Dom," I state, taking the gun with my index finger and thumb and placing it in my backpack like I'm disposing of a dead sewer rat.

"Be sure to take the safety off before you shoot," he comments. "I sent you an email with YouTube tutorials on how to shoot a gun."

I think he's trying to scare me but I roll my eyes. "It's a Glock 17. I've known how to shoot one of these since I was in diapers."

Thanks to Uncle John.

"Just because I'm not a fan of carrying around a gun, doesn't mean I don't know how to use one," I add.

"Fine. Fine. You, Ms. Gilbert, are a badass," he acquiesces.

"Better."

Dom stands up, indicating that I can as well. He buttons up his jacket while I sling the backpack with a freaking gun in it, over my shoulder. I also take the bag Dom gave me with my books and homework. I stop him just before we leave the office. "There's one tiny itty bitty little thing I need you to do for me," I request.

He straightens, obviously thinking if indulging me is worth the trouble. Curiosity wins out. "Okay Ms. Gilbert, what is it?"

"When you walk to the visitor's parking lot, take the south hallway."

"And?"

I sigh, wondering how this is going to go over. I doubt Domenico Moretti is used to taking orders. "Pull the fire alarm."

Damon

I don't feel in control.

Of anything.

Her hair wildly swings down her back as she walks to class. The sleeves of the oversized blazer purposefully bunch up around her elbows, the hem grazes her skirt. I love what Elena wears, whatever she wears, but she deserves nice things. Today was going to be hard no matter what I did, but a designer outfit for her to wear when she walked into school would help give her the extra edge she didn't know she had.

I'm a different person than who I was a couple of months ago when I left rehab. I've become more crazed. It's because of her. With every moment we're together, I become more obsessed and less in control of who I was before that party. That fucking party that started this all.

I haven't received any news about the video. It's out there and I have no control over what happens next. Lockwood told me to wait, and I don't want to. Lockwood told me that we have to smoke them out, if we act now, they'll sell to the first buyer. Right now, they don't know we know. The plan is to buy it through an anonymous second party, but we still don't know who they're going through. I've called Lockwood so many times, and every time he says the same thing, "Be patient, Damon."

I am not a patient man.

Ford runs beside me on the school's track. "Damon, what's with you lately?"

I pick up my pace. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're like, never around man, and then I heard you put Frederick in the hospital," he says. "He's getting out today, in case you cared."

Patience.

"My only regret is that he wasn't conscious enough to watch me beat the ever-living shit out of him," I say, continuing to pick up my pace. Ford is all right, but I don't have time for this right now.

"He is a tool," Ford agrees. "Hey, just because you and Gilbert are together, doesn't mean we can't all hang out. If you, of all people, like her this much, she can't be that bad."

I grunt in reply and keep running.

Ford doesn't stop. "Worthington and Scott took things too far," he finally admits. "If I'd known what had actually happened that night, I would've never participated in those pranks or said what I've said about her. You have no reason to trust me, Damon, but we have most of the school year left. You're going to need allies."

Instead of listening to the rest of what he's about to say, I ditch him by taking a sharp turn and head for the locker room. Once I'm there, I dig into my locker for my boxing gloves and jump rope. I put them in one hand while I take my AirPods and phone out of my bag so I don't have the same problem that I did on the track. I put the AirPods in my ears and scroll through my mix of music, settling on a mix of 90s rock.

The moment I'm standing in front of the punching bag in the gym, with my hands taped up and my gloves on, a feeling of peace settles over me the moment _Sabotage _by the Beastie Boys comes on the mix.

Sweat drips down my forehead while I work the bag, I'm in such a zone, I lose track of time and don't hear the bell ring. I guess I'm not going to my next class. I take off my gloves and tape and finish my workout by jumping rope for ten minutes. When I'm done I shower and change, looking forward to seeing Elena at lunch. There's never a gym class before lunch, so the locker room is empty while I get ready.

My backpack is over my shoulders and I'm about to leave the locker room when I see someone who should not be around right now.

Patience.

"Just the person I was looking for," Chase says, walking between the rows of red lockers toward me.

I drop my bag on the bench. "Considering you're suspended and not supposed to be on campus, it must be important."

"You set us up," he yells, walking angrily toward me. He punches a locker in frustration.

I shrug innocently, watching his meltdown. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"This all started with you, you know. You're the one that started with the pranks and you're the one that spread the rumors," he adds. "Now you're with her, and you turn on us? We had your back for years before that party."

I raise my hands, palm up. "I believe I also ordered that no one touch her, you knew what would happen if you did."

"Noah is going to go to jail, man," he shouts. "I lost my scholarships and admission to Duke. Frederick is getting out of the hospital today. You took this too far."

Patience.

"I don't think I've taken it far enough," I say, folding my arms and leaning against one of the lockers.

I don't think Chase knows that I know about the cabin. They left me a note, but that could've been Noah's doing. While Elena was recovering in the pool house, Chase was the one that acted as though nothing happened. I spend a few seconds reading him. He looks like a mess, wearing a hoodie and gym shorts. He looks like he just got out of bed or just got done spending the last thirty-six hours playing the X-Box.

"How would Elena feel about you once I tell her about what really happened that night in August? How do you think she'll feel about you when she finds out how badly you wanted her out of town? Or what about what you almost did the week of her trial?" He argues. "I'll tell her everything, unless you come clean to the cops and help get Noah out of jail."

I drop my hands to the side and clench my fists. "You will never go near her again."

"I've gotten to her a few times before, shouldn't be hard to do it again," he adds, walking toward me.

I tilt my head to the side.

Fuck it.

"Where's the video?"

"What video?"

"The one you're trying to sell to the highest bidder."

"Damon, I have no fucking clue what you're talking about," he replies, confusion marring his face.

"Let me refresh your memory," I say, slowly walking toward him. Chase tries to back away, but there's nowhere for him to go. He could get expelled for being on campus if he's caught by a coach. "You drugged her, raped her, and then sent me her location written in her blood, to me."

"You know," he says, shifting his feet.

"I know."

A pause and then he licks his lips and looks up. "She loved it, Damon," Chase says. "She was begging to suck my dick while Scott rammed into her from behind. Noah had the honors of breaking that tight pussy in, but we all took turns. We could've kept her longer, but Frederick mixed up the dosage and she passed out earlier than we planned."

I. SEE. RED.

I growl and lunge for Chase so quickly, he doesn't have time to recover.

This time, I don't make the mistake of knocking out Chase on the first swing. I punch him across the face, successfully breaking his nose and keep going. He tries to fight me off, but I'm too crazed. I punch his face over and over and over and when he looks like he's about to pass out, I fist his shirt in my hands and pull him up. "You will be sorry for ever going against my very clear orders to not touch Elena Gilbert. You a fucking piece of shit and you will never be able to rest because I will take pleasure in letting you think the worst is over, and then I'll rip everything away from you."

Then I punch him a final time, effectively knocking him out. Like a bell going off in the boxing ring, the fire alarm resounds across the empty locker room.

I have to get out of here. I grab my bag and leave, but one of the football coaches stops me. "Fire alarm went off, Salvatore. You have to follow procedure, exit out those doors and walk to the front of the school so they can do a count."

I nod but Coach Harper stops me. "What happened to your knuckles, Salvatore?"

"I boxed without gloves," I lie.

"There's blood all over your shirt."

I look down. Fuck. I'm covered in Chase's blood.

"Help!" Someone calls from where I came. "Someone get the nurse!"

Coach must see something in my expression. "Follow me."

"But the fire alarm went off," I argue. "I really should line up with the rest of the school."

"Someone pulled the alarm, but admin decided to treat it like a regular drill," he explains. "Follow me, Salvatore."

I stand away from the lockers where Chase's unconscious body lays. Standing between the rows of lockers, Coach looks at the scene, his eyes cast toward me and he sends me to his office while he helps Worthington. It isn't long before Coach enters the office and sits across from me. "The police are going to come, so we need to get your story straight," he says.

What?  
"There aren't cameras in the locker room," he explains. "Worthington isn't supposed to set foot on campus. You say he attacked you because he's jealous you're with Ms. Gilbert. I'll confirm whatever you say."

"Why are you helping me?"

"Coach Dean is a friend," he replies. "He brags about Ms. Gilbert's talent all the time. I saw the trial, we all saw the video of that little piece of shit drugging the water before she was attacked. I was glad when he was removed from the team, but most people don't want to believe what happened, happened. I've seen what that girl's been through over the years. Worthington got off easy. I'm not supposed to condone violence, but if they did that to my wife, I wouldn't have hesitated to do what you did."

He doesn't even know the full story but I'm grateful.

"The cops will be here soon, you need to change and wash the blood off of your knuckles," he orders. "Is there someone you need to call?"

I nod. "Thank you."

I leave the office so I can clean up. I already tried to call Elena, but she's not picking up. I decide to call Cameron.

"What?"

"I need you to meet me at the police station," I say.

"Again?"

"Yup," I reply. "Same story, different person."

"Goddammit, Damon!" He yells. "You're going to have to wait at the station because I'm scheduled to go into trial. You know the drill, don't say anything and make note of all the laws they break when they take you in."

Then he hangs up. Cameron is worth every cent I pay for. He taught me the basics after the first time I was arrested. I try Elena again while I change out of my shirt, but she's still not picking up.

"Damon!" Coach Harper hisses.

I put the phone back in my bag and rush back to his office. He gives me a confident nod as the police walk in. I'm cuffed and marched through the halls of the school. People are coming in from the fire drill, so there's a big audience. I glare at everyone while scanning the crowd for Elena.

She's not there.

Something isn't right.

My only comfort is that Santiago and Malohi are watching the perimeter of the campus. But something could've happened on campus. I'm supposed to be the one to protect her on campus and anything could've happened. Chase could've done something to her before he found me. I don't trust Rafe Powell not to try something. I don't trust Principal Hale either.

As I'm shoved into the back of a police cruiser for the second time in twenty-four hours, I decide that I need to change my schedule. Elena isn't going to like it, but she also doesn't know about the video. Elena Gilbert doesn't know about a lot of things, and I'd like to keep her in the dark about most of them.


	25. Chapter 25

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in publishing this chapter. I don't think I'm the only one that's struggled these past couple of months. I've been so distracted, that it's been hard to find my writing groove. For example, after posting last night, I reread chapter 25 this morning and realized there were a few mistakes, and the writing needed to be cleaned up a little. This usually doesn't happen! I always spend a lot of time revising and editing before I post. The good news is, I think that I've found my writing groove again, so thank you to everyone who's had faith and been patient with me. These next few chapters until the end of part one should flow smoothly. I hope that you enjoy this chapter of Lovesick Toxicity.

Chapter 25

Damon

They took all of my items before they put me in the police cruiser and cuffed me. By the time we got to the station, they placed me in a holding cell instead of cuffing me to a chair in the pit. I hope Santi and Mal are watching Elena closely, I can imagine several scenarios where she ends up right next to me in another holding cell. I don't want that but she has to wonder what's going on. Not knowing how she'll react is more worrisome than the reason I'm here, sitting on a metal bench, across from a skinny, goth type scratching his arms like crazy. Completely strung out.

Something doesn't feel right. None of this really feels right because the timing is off. Chase isn't supposed to set foot on campus, but he decided to risk expulsion to confront me? Then there's what happened last night, Frederick confronts me when he knows police cruisers were close by. They both knew how I'd react when confronted, so what's worth an overnight trip to the hospital?

I waited for Cameron at the police station all afternoon and into the early evening. Coach Harper's statement was helpful to my case, but in a surprising turn of events, Chase Worthington didn't press charges. When he woke up, his story aligned with mine. According to his statement, we got into a disagreement that got out of hand.

Cameron and I are moved to a private room used for conversations with counsel, waiting for my paperwork to be completed. Unlike last night, because Cameron was stuck at the courthouse, awaiting a trial, I was put in a holding cell. That one extra step requires more paperwork, apparently.

"I have good news and bad news," Cameron says, sitting at a steel desk across from me.

"It's usually bad news, bad news, so just spit it out."

"The purchase went through," he says. "Just some final paperwork and the property will be yours."

"That is good news," I muttered trying not to get too excited over that hurdle. "So what's the bad news?"

He lets out a long, weary breath. "While you were in custody, I received word that the video's distribution rights sold. It'll be available for sale at midnight. Commercials are already airing on some more colorful websites."

I inhale slowly through clenched teeth. "Is there really extra paperwork for my release, or did you need to tell me that piece of information in a secure location?"

He lifts up a hand. "Both."

I slam both fists against the table and look in Cameron's apprehensive eyes. He's never seen this side of me. The side that wants to burn the world down until every single person responsible for this video is in hell, right along with me. "This is my fault. This is all my fault and she's never going to get over this. Never."

"How?"

There are so many ways this is my fault, the main one being I should've confronted Elena about everything that happened after our brother's died years ago. My anger and hate created this.

I look down at my still clenched fists, thinking.

This was planned. Everything is too convenient and coincidental.

Then, it clicks. "When did Chase regain consciousness?"

"At the school," Cameron replies, startled by my change in subject. "He went to the hospital to get checked over, but nothing was broken and he only needed a few stitches above his right eye."

"What happened with your case today? The one that kept you from bailing me out of this place?"

"The trial?" I nod, prompting Cameron to continue. "It was delayed and then canceled by the judge. That sort of thing isn't uncommon."

"Who was the judge?"

Cameron blinks and then curses. His brows crease in desperation. "Damon, I swear, I didn't put two and two together! How was I supposed to know I was part of some plot against Elena? I respect her, you know that!"

"Who was the judge, Cameron?"

I need him to say it. I need confirmation that I'm right.

"Clifton Worthington," Cameron finally says.

Chase's dad, who also happens to be running for the senate.

I should've killed both of them.

"Did you find out when the bidding started?"

"Last night."

"This has all been a distraction and I played right into their hands. Sure it took physical sacrifices on their part, but not only did they distract me but I'm on record beating the shit out of both Frederick and Chase. My guess is the official bidding started last night once they knew enough buyers were interested, while I was in custody the transaction went through this afternoon, while you were distracted with your trial and I was in a holding cell," I conclude. "They must've known I was after it."

"It gets worse," Cameron says.

"How can it possibly get worse?"

"The video isn't anonymous, Elena Gilbert's name is all over it."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I run my hands through my hair. I let out a guttural and animalistic curse. "Fuck!"

This is going to destroy her.

"We have to get her out of the country," I say.

"Damon, calm down. She's not the first girl to have a sex tape, she'll be fine."

I glance at the door to make sure no one is going to come in.

"This room is secure, yes?"

"Yeah, I'm your legal counsel, no one can listen in on our conversation."

"We are trapped on all three sides," I explain. "Grayson and Miranda were involved with Domenico Moretti. Miranda sold the information of who Elena really is to him and now he's taken an active interest in her. He bought her home on the South Side, he's holding information Grayson left her over her head, and he's making her pay back her parent's debt to him by selling some new drug," I explain.

Cameron's eyes widen in shock l, but I continue. "Elena Gilbert isn't a Gilbert, she's the daughter of the Giovanni family and the Russo family. Her biological mom was pregnant at a young age and lived at the mansion with my mom. My dad and Grayson Gilbert helped hide Elena from the families, but they'll put two and two together. The trial was nationally publicized and my dad's name was brought up in the trial. With this tape, it's going to bring attention back to the trial and back to Elena, they're going to know she's the daughter of Isabella Russo and Antonio Giovanni. Two rival crime families that will take her in and marry her off. She'd be in a different kind of prison," I explain. "Or worse, she becomes a target for a rival family."

"Maybe they won't put it together. Do they even know she exists?"

"Yes, and they ran into trouble with Grayson five years ago," I say. "My dad and the Founding Families Council have been protecting her by keeping her information out of any database. There aren't any hospital records of her birth; she doesn't even have a birth certificate."

"I don't know anything about the Council, but my dad has been trying to get me on it. Maybe it is worth it…" Cameron mutters.

"I want to know how they were able to use her name," I ask.

"They could've made her sign something when she was out of it," Cameron explains. "We'll fight it, Damon. The moment it's released, we'll file an injunction and get it taken down. Their mistake was putting her name on it."

"That wasn't a mistake. They're trying to get back at her for ruining their name. Noah and Chase both got their scholarships taken away, early admissions to their dream schools are gone, and no school is looking at accepting them. If Noah ever gets out of jail, they're each going to have to rely on massive donations from their parents to get into any school. They think the same thing will happen to Elena. Once her name is involved in a sex tape, guilty or not, schools won't want her."

"After what they did to her?"

I nod. "I should've killed them when I had the chance."

"I would've helped you cover up the murder."

"This is going to destroy her," I groan, placing my head in my hands. "Even if you get the video taken down, it'll still be out there."

"We have time, Damon," Cameron says. "This video isn't going to hit New York or Chicago right away."

"Were you able to find John Gilbert?"

Cameron shakes his head. "My private investigator is on it, but he's having trouble pinning him down. He was in Morocco for a while, then Switzerland, then Thailand. The problem my investigator is having is that he goes under different aliases. John Bond and John Bourne being his favorites."

That sounds like John.

"I'm going to need passports and documentation," I tell him. "Just in case I have to move her out of the country."

"That's going to be impossible."

"Why?"

"The Russo family and Giovanni family are involved, they own the feds. The second they know who Elena is, they'll have her within the day. She won't be able to fly and their reach stretches too far for her to leave any other way. Between the Russo's, Giovanni's, and Moretti, none of my contacts are going to create documentation for her."

"Figure it out," I order. "Don't tell them who it's for. If you do it now, it'll be before anyone knows."

Cameron nods. "I'll do what I have to do."

A police officer opens the door and hands Cameron paperwork. Once I've signed everything, they give me my items and we leave. The first thing I do when I get my backpack, find my phone, and in case my day didn't already suck, my battery is dead.

Something doesn't feel right. Elena should be here yelling at me for getting in trouble and abandoning her at school. I half expected to see her when I walked out to the parking lot. She's either pissed or….

Santi and Mal stand by a black Escalade with their arms folded, leaning against the car. Elena better be sitting in that locked SUV or there will be hell to pay. Catching on to my mood, Cameron excuses himself to his car, promising he'll figure something out.

"Where is she?"

Santi scratches the back of his neck. "She hasn't been seen since the fire alarm went off."

"What about the tracker on her phone?"

"She turned it off."

"How?" I shout. "She doesn't even know it's there."

Both Santi and Mal give me a hopeless look and I want to fire them on spot, but they're the best in the business. Unfortunately, they don't know Elena was trained by her con of an uncle that currently isn't allowed back in the United States. The girl knew how to pick a lock in under sixty seconds by the age of six.

I run a hand through my hair. "Fill me in in the car."

The moment we get in the Escalade, I plug my phone in and wait for it to turn on.

"We do have a lead," Santi says, handing me an iPad. I press play and watch Moretti walk out of the school while all the other students gather for the fire drill.

"Did you see Elena leave with him?"

"She must've left out the back," Mal replies from the driver's side of the car.

I watch the video again, trying to see if I can spot Elena anywhere. "Or she was taken."

"There's something else," Santi adds.

"What?" I groan, watching the video again. She has to be somewhere.

"Your dad is in town."

Of course, he is. The moment my life takes a nosedive, my dad is here to mock me. "Is dear old dad staying at a hotel or his actual house?"

"He insists you meet him for dinner at Jean-George."

"So he's staying at a hotel."

Mal, who used to work for my dad doesn't say anything, but I see his tattooed forearms flex as he turns left.

"He didn't want to disturb you and Elena at the mansion," Santi replies.

I don't believe it for one second. He's trying to hide his latest conquest- the one he was in Korea with. I have to meet with him or he'll suspect I'm in trouble and make things worse by taking control. He doesn't have the best track record when it comes to the Gilberts, all things considered. I have a feeling he'd do everything in his power to keep us apart and keep Elena from being associated with the Salvatore name.

"Why is he here?"

Santi shrugs.

My phone pings, notifying me it's finally turned on. I unlock the phone and see a voicemail from Elena that was sent six hours ago.

Fuck.

I press play.

Her voice sounds slightly hurried, yet calm and placating. "Damon," she breaths. "So, I deserve points for calling you. I could've just not contacted you but I thought, hey…I don't know what we are but you do give me orgasms so I should at least call you," I chuckle darkly. Yeah, I don't like labels, but I am hers and she is mine. "I'm okay. Perfectly safe. Moretti sent me on a sort of mission, so I'll be gone for a few days. I'll bring you a souvenir when I see you this weekend. Okay, bye!"

Moretti sent her on a mission? I don't like Moretti and I don't like the way he lays claim to my girl. I check her tracker and see that she did in fact disable it at school. "I need one of you to get me security footage of the entire school," I order. "She was sent somewhere without Moretti."

At least she wasn't taken forcibly against her will, but who knows where he sent her. Based on her message, she's not going to be back in town for days.

"We're here, Damon," Santi says.

I order Santi and Mal to find what they can on Elena and take my partially charged phone into the steakhouse.

Ever the impressive man, my dad can intimidate foreign leaders. I am just one of the people he has to deal with that happens to be related to him. Giuseppe stands before me in a custom Italian navy suit. The evergreen silk tie doesn't suit him at all. I'm probably the only one in the room not intimidated by Giuseppe Salvatore, the CEO and founder of Salvatore Investments.

"Son," he states by way of greeting.

"Giuseppe."

He shakes my hand and sits down. "I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"Considering you've only been there a third of my life, I'd say I'm being generous."

"It doesn't diminish who I am," he replies, sitting down and taking a sip of his scotch.

"Your genetics saw to that," I utter, taking my seat across from him and taking a sip of bourbon my father knowingly ordered. I appreciate the fact that he doesn't acknowledge the number of times he's sent me to rehab by ordering me water or worse, the orange soda I would've ordered as a kid. It's like a mutual understanding that rehab was to keep me from spending time in jail or keep me from getting expelled.

He gives me a look usually reserved for the boardroom. It's a look I know well. "We have matters to discuss."

"I'm here, aren't I?" I raise the tumbler to my lips. "So talk."

"When you graduate, you will start working for Salvatore Investments. I already have a position lined up for you where you'll learn about the business from the best. You can stay at the mansion, or use one of the companies penthouses, I don't care. I'm having Carlisle draw up the papers," he finishes.

So this is what he wanted to talk about? My future with his company? I already knew it'd come to this, it was written for me long ago, but to have this conversation now? Why? "I thought I'd at least be able to go to college."

"School won't teach you what experience can," he states. "When I retire, you're to take over the company. I want you to have as much experience as possible because I'm not retiring until I know you're ready."

I chuckle because I know my dad better than he thinks. "You'll be working until you die if that's the case."

I'll never be ready by his standards.

A flush creeps up his neck but he remains stoic. "You have two options, Damon and I want you to think about them very carefully. You can use your trust fund to go to college and continue to party, or you can do the right thing for this family and the company I built and start work the day after you graduate," he offers. He looks smug like he knows my decision. "If you choose the latter option, I'll have one of the Fell boys take your place. Both have already started working at the company and show promise."

Either work for him or lose my place in his company. Jokes on him, I don't care about his company.

"What about Elena?"

His thin lips curl into a slight frown. "What about her?"

"Where she goes, I go," I say. "She's got top universities looking at her, ready to offer her running scholarships. I'm not letting her go so you can force me to work for your company."

His left hand casually picks up his crystal tumbler and takes a pensive sip. He takes his time answering my question. Classic Guiseppe Salvatore negotiation tactic. His dark eyes flick to mine and give me a penetrating stare. "Have your fun in your final year in high school and then you let that girl go."

"Why would I take relationship advice from you of all people?"

"This isn't relationship advice. Do you think I don't know what goes on in that mansion when I'm gone? Parties with strippers, drinking, and drugs. Parties you make money off of. In the past twenty-four hours, you've been arrested twice. You've been in and out of rehab. Your grades are decent, but even I'd have a hard time getting you into any school, son. I'm giving you an opportunity to grow up and make something of yourself," he pauses to take another sip. Readying for his final blow. "You don't deserve her."

I feel the color drain from my face. I place my shaky palms on the tops of my thighs and rub back and forth, trying to steady them. I think of the way she looked at the party that night. She was wearing a long flowy summer dress with buttons up the front. I wanted to beat the shit out of Noah just for making her laugh like that, flashing a smile that draws everyone closer to her. She looked happy and carefree, a look she hadn't worn for years. Then everything went so horribly wrong.

"I don't need your money," I say, the confidence in my voice wavers. "And I don't want to be anything like you."

His lips thin but he gives nothing away. "I'll give you to the new year to decide."

I want to leave but he hasn't told me why I'm really here. "What else do you have to tell me?"

"I want to talk to you about Elena Gilbert," he pauses. "Aside from what I just said."

"And then you're back to Korea or Singapore or wherever your latest girlfriend resides?"

"Damon," he says severely. "This is serious."

I knew it was based on the fact that he's in town. However, he currently has my attention.

I straighten. "Okay."

"You have to understand that I took Elena in because I loved her mother and knew she was in danger. I loved Isabella like a sister and your mother loved her like a best friend. Grayson tried so hard to care for Elena the way she deserved, but Miranda was always a bitch."

I shake my head and take a sip of the water before me. "Isabella wasn't like a sister, you fucked her. That much was revealed at the trial. Luciana thought it was Elena coming out of your office a couple of years ago in a towel, not Isabella."

Giuseppe flexes a hand but covers up the twitch by raising the crystal tumbler to his lips. "She needed help."

"I'm sure…" I add with a smirk. "Why?"

My father steeples his fingers and gazes at the immaculate chandelier set in wood beams in the ceiling. "Elena's bloodline is more valuable than all the oil in the middle east. Comprised of two of the wealthiest families in the United States, she would've had her fate arranged before she turned three. She's also the most dangerous person to the families. She could bind them together or be the subject of another war. Isabella, having just escaped that, knew that'd be her daughter's fate and risked everything to keep her safe. We met at our summer home in upstate New York, so no one really knew of our relationship and Elena was easy to hide… until now."

"You said the council kept her safe."

"Between Grayson and myself, they couldn't say no. The council is very tight-lipped about her, even after everything Grayson put this town through," he explains.

I had Cameron do some digging. His findings contradicted the man I knew before me. "I have to know," I pause, and gather my thoughts. "Why did you put a trust together for Elena?"

His eyes cast a wary gaze and in the light of the chandelier, he looks old and so, unlike my immovable father. "Guilt," he sighs as if he's been holding onto this information for years. "I turned my back on Grayson after Stefan…"

"Died?"

The word wakes him up. He straightens and takes another sip of his scotch. "Elena's a good kid, always has been. She needed to be protected from that woman."

Miranda.

We're quiet when the waitress places the food before us and the food remains untouched long after she leaves. I don't trust my dad with any information about Elena. He'll take her away. Lock her up somewhere in town where the council can protect her to fulfill his promise. "The trust is set to release when she comes of age. She's eighteen, can she access the money?"

"It's meant for college, Damon, not some party you want to throw."

I caught his hesitancy a split second before he talked. "You know that I pay for my own parties, what are you hiding?"

"Where's Elena?"

I push my plate away. Uninterested in food even though I haven't eaten since the coffee and bourbon I had this morning."Safe," I lie.

"Damon, I made her mother a promise. Tell me the truth," he orders.

I place my palms on the table, stand up, and hiss. "If you cared so much about her or her mother, then why's she been alone so long? She's been working herself to the bone just to put a roof over her head, and at the same time, she's been fighting the mob."

"Don't be foolish," he exclaims. "Use your head, Damon!"

I sit back down and think. "It would expose her."

"You think that I didn't want to send her out of the country the moment Grayson went to jail?" He barks out. "Grayson didn't want me to, he was equally worried. Worried that his own problems would lead the families right to her."

"And you were angry," I remind him. "So angry you sent me to rehab without a seconds hesitation."

Hearing the edge in my voice, he flinches but quickly straightens. "Sit down, you're making a fool of yourself."

"You still can't admit it, can you? You can't apologize for sending me away right after my brother died."

Nothing. Just a glare warning me he's two seconds from losing it.

"We're done," I say. I should've never come. I should be looking for Elena, not dealing with him.

"I'm leaving town in a couple of days," he says. "I want to see Elena before I go."

I ignore him and walk off, leaving the two-hundred-dollar steak he ordered untouched and cold.

If he finds out about the video, I don't know what he'll do but I have a feeling he'd easily send me back to rehab and take over the situation with Elena which would end up with her being locked up in a tower somewhere. I may be eighteen, but Giuseppe is incredibly good at getting what he wants.

I have so many fires to put out, I don't know where to start. Mal and Santi stand outside the SUV, once again, with their arms folded. Jesus. Can today get any worse?

"We have news," they say when I approach the vehicle.

"And?"

"Something happened in Macon, Georgia."

Elena

It's freaking hot. So hot my tank is sticking to my stomach. I have to lift the fabric from my skin just to get some much-needed air. Is it normal for a place to be so effing hot with Thanksgiving just around the corner?

Georgia is a swamp and I can't wait to get out except I need to find whatever it is I'm supposed to transport before I make it to Miami. The moment I got in the small SUV, I checked the destination on the car's GPS and then disabled it. I also found several cameras hidden throughout the car and ditched the phone Moretti gave me and my phone after I called Damon. Then I hauled ass out of the state, following the route I memorized from Dom's directions. I need the information Grayson left me, but I'm betting everything that he needs whatever is in this car delivered more. So here I am, in the parking garage of a mall in Macon, Georgia, stripping the car.

No hidden drugs or weapons. I take the knife I bought and use it to slash the vinyl seat covering. Still…nothing. I put the back seats down and continue my search. Was this all just a test? Maybe a way to get me out of town? But why send me to Miami?

The car is a mess of plastic coverings and torn fabric. Thanks to Dom, I have the cash to repair the damage if he's that upset. Where haven't I looked? My eyes scan the interior of the car.

Wait.

Except for looking for GPS trackers, I haven't checked the exterior.

I climb out of the backseat of the car and on my hands and knees, start looking beneath the car, around the tires. When I don't find anything, I do something I have yet to do, I open the hood.

Nothing.

I'm staring at the engine, the alternator, the battery, and still don't see anything. I'm moving the metal latch holding up the hood when it comes down to fast and smacks me on the back of the head. "Ow!" I yell, feeling the back of my neck for blood.

My hand holds the hood up while I examine my neck but then something catches my attention. A small magnetic box tucked under the frame. I have to tilt my head to get to it and stretch out my arm to reach it. Something exposed near the suspension scrapes my forearm as I reach for the small red box. Anyone who didn't know about cars might've thought this was part of the car or the engine, but I know better. I'm able to easily take the box from its hiding spot and clasp it securely in my hand. I lower the hood of the car and sit in the passenger seat, locking all the doors out of paranoia. It reminds me of a miniature version of a firebox, with a heatproof coating the small square box. I slid open the covering of the box and find a small black flash drive.

Huh.

I slip the drive into my pocket and clean up the car as best as I can. When everything is somewhat back in place, I grab my backpack and walk into the mall, my eyes set on the Apple store. Time for a new phone and a new laptop- thank you, Dom, for letting me keep all the money I earned selling drugs.

After setting up my iPhone with prepaid minutes and my new MacBook, I sit in a Starbucks with a latte and a picked at scone, trying to decipher what's on the flash drive. Short answer? A lot. especially considering the flash drive wasn't encrypted.

Ledgers.

Court papers.

Bank documents.

Property titles.

Tax returns.

It's all on this small flash drive.

After spending the better part of an hour sifting through the contents on the drive, I take the final sip of my coffee cup and close the laptop I bought. There are two numbers I wrote down before I ditched the phones, Damon's and Dom's.

I place my computer and phone in my backpack and walk out of the coffee shop. I don't know if it's what I just read but unease courses down my spine; something doesn't feel right.

Instead of going to the parking lot, I cut through the food court and stride to the closest department store. I hide behind a beauty department display and search for the gun I kept in my bag. I look around the corner without giving away my location and see a crowd of shoppers taking advantage of the Mac Cosmetics display.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid.

I subtly move the gun to the front of my bag so I can easily access it and walk to the escalators that lead to the third floor.

The paranoia stays.

According to the flash drive, Dom is a multi-billionaire that needs a piece of land off the coast of Virginia in order for his business to continue to thrive and grow. I didn't find anything about myself, but I read ledgers. Ledgers with shipment dates, times, and locations. Ledgers that indicated what was on the loads sent north and what he was receiving from the south. Loads from Columbia and Mexico. A few from China.

I make it to the third floor and instead of walking directly to the overhead bridge that leads to the parking garage, I take a hard left to the home goods section. Hiding behind a showroom bed, I see him. A man, wearing a black suit, obviously searching the area. I roll my eyes. Moretti really needs to up his game.

If it's him following me.

It could easily be someone else.

I slip in a dressing room near the lingerie section of the department store and move the gun to the waistband of my shorts. Making sure everything is secure, I peer out of the doors and see that the coast is clear. Maybe I am being paranoid. Maybe that guy was trying to decide which thousand count sheets to get or which push-up bra to get his girlfriend.

With my back is to the wall, I make my way out of the store. I walk through a group of normal teenagers who curse at me for being so rude. Kids my age enjoying an evening at the mall and here I am, forced to work for a mafioso because of a debt the people who I thought were my parents, left me. Oh, and he's holding information over my head. I would give anything to be one of those kids on a weeknight.

My stride quickens as I weave through shoppers. I don't dare look over my shoulder but from the reflection in a storefront window, I see him swiftly closing in on me.

It's time to run.

I take a hard right and sprint down an escalator going the opposite direction. People yell and curse for me to move, but I don't care. I'm running flat out, past clothing stores, jewelry stores, and the like. I briefly twist my head to see if he's still behind me when I run right into someone. Tall, foreboding, wearing all black. He grabs me by the upper arms and easily hauls me to a narrow hallway used for maintenance like I weigh nothing. I wouldn't be surprised if he worked for the Worldwide Wrestling Federation in his spare time. Probably has one of those giant gold belts hanging on his bedroom wall.

"I have her," he says into a mic.

Is he sure about that?

I take his moment of arrogance to suck back saliva collecting in my mouth and hock it right in his face while simultaneously raising my knee and stomping on his foot. He curses and I use the opening to make a break for it. Instead of going back out into the mall, I run down the maintenance hallway, which leads to the back of the mall. It's dark outside, but the lights from trucks unloading cargo guide my path.

With my back to a Sysco truck, I take out my gun and after releasing the safety, hold it in my hand the way Uncle John taught me, pointed down and ready to shoot if I need to. I need to get to my car, but the garage is on the other side of the mall.

I mentally calculate my risk. These men were most likely sent by Moretti for disabling the car's GPS and ditching the phone. I could also be in someone else's territory, on someone else's radar. It could be someone that's not Moretti, and after the flash drive I'm delivering. The Russo or Giovanni family could've found me, that's another possibility.

It could also be Damon, but I quickly rule that out because he'd just come himself. He'd think it fun to freak me out and then he'd probably fuck me against this truck.

I feel myself heat up and then shake my head. Now's not the time to mentally play out fantasies. The rush adrenaline coursing through my body is making me horny as hell.

_Think, Elena!_

I hear quick footsteps and the sound of gravel being kicked up. If I run around the truck, I risk exposure. Not a possibility. There is another way.

Through.

I take off my backpack, slide it beneath the semi-trailer, and lying flat on my back, I roll on my stomach until I'm hidden in the shadows of the massive wheels. Keeping the gun in my hand, I wait.

"Where did she go?"

Loafers gleam in the moonlight a few feet from me. I hold my breath and wait.

"She can't have gone far."

"Boss is going to kill us for losing her."

The other pauses. "We haven't lost her yet."

Sitting a foot away from me are larger rocks. I toss one in the opposite direction of the truck. It clatters and skips against the gravel.

"Shut up!" One of the goons hisses, effectively silencing his partner.

I hear them move away from me and around the truck toward the noise. I throw a rock against the truck next to the one I'm currently hiding under.

The moment they round the corner, I grab my bag and roll back to where I was, then I pop to my feet and sprint back into the mall. I don't care if people see me running with dirt and gravel all over me, holding a gun, I run as fast as I can around the ice skating rink and toward the mall entrance. When my path is clear, I look over my shoulder and see them on the other side of the rink. They can't know where the car is. Years of running trained me for this moment, I sprint up the stairs next to the elevators until I get to the third floor. Then I double back so I can access the parking garage through Macy's.

Security guards block my path, and it's evident in their stance they want to talk to me. Running throughout the mall probably caught their attention.

I casually move my backpack so it covers the gun in my hand. I don't dare put it away. I don't have to dig deep to create the tears I'm able to force. "Oh my goodness, thank god," I cry before they can accuse me of anything.

A heavier set one looks at me curiously. "Ma'am, please calm down."

"You don't understand," I blubber, choking in hysterics. "These men are after me. They tried to rape me," I say, motioning to the gravel and dirt down my front with the hand not currently holding a gun.

Concern blankets the other guard's face. "Where are they?"

Like they can do anything.

"They're wearing black and…" I turn behind me and see the two men in black closing in. "That's them!"

"Ma'am, wait here."

I don't.

The officers step away from me to deal with the goons. With their backs to me, I dart into Macy's and run across the kid's clothing department and athletic wear until I find the sliding glass doors that lead to the parking garage.

My legs carry me down the slope of the ramp leading to my car. I don't have time to apologize to the few people parking and getting out of their cars and I refuse to look back as I make my way to the Rav 4.

Loud pops of gunshots ring out. _Jesus Christ!_

I dive behind a white Prius and fall to my knees, praying no one innocent got hurt. My ears listen for screams or sirens. Nothing. That's good.

With one palm flat on the asphalt to steady myself, I consider my options. If I stay here, they'll find me. If I run, I leave myself exposed.

God, I really wish I had a drink. Just one shot of something.

_Think, Elena!_

These aren't Moretti's men. I'm pretty sure Moretti doesn't want me dead. I crouch below the car so I'm hidden between the white Prius and gold Honda sedan. I hear quickening footsteps, I need to move.

"Where is she?"

"Keep looking, we can't let her get away."

With my head bent, I move to a crouch and run between the cars until I hear another gunshot. This one hits the passenger window of the car I just past. I spot the Rav.

Fuck it.

With my head lowered and attempting to stay concealed behind cars, I run, sliding over the hood of a sedan, to the Rav 4. My hands nervously shake trying to get the keys out of my pocket when another shot rings through the air, crashing into another car.

That's it.

That's fucking it.

I turn around, and staying concealed behind a car that's two cars away from the Rav, I point my gun in the direction of the shots.

Then I see him. Wearing all black, with a look of pure venom and determination on his face. He's easily one-hundred-fifty pounds heavier than me and will probably face hell if he doesn't bring me back to whomever he works for. Might as well save him that trip to hell. The moment he pauses his pursuit to scan the parking lot, I pull the trigger and hit him in the shoulder of his shooting arm. I could've done worse.

I hear shouts and more gunshots as his partner attempts to find me, but in the midst of it, I make it to the Rav, open the door, throw my backpack in, and pull out with my head ducked. A bullet flies through the rear windshield in a clean shot and I feel searing pain slice through my right bicep. My steering falters as I hit the back of a truck. Ignoring the pain shooting through my arm, I back up and continue to drive out of the parking lot.

Cars are lined up to pay for parking and exit the garage. I glance behind me and calculate the risk of waiting. If I wait, I have a high probability of being stopped, either by cops for the damage caused by my driving and gunfire, or the goons that chased me through the mall. I put the SUV in reverse and making sure the path is clear, drive through the entry barrier with my head ducked.

I make it to the road and continue until I see the exit for the interstate. The further away I am from the scene, the more my arm throbs. Blood trickles down my bicep as I drive south and I pray I don't get pulled over for the obvious bullet holes in the back of my car or because someone at the mall called it in.

After driving for twenty minutes, I relax when I realize no one is following me. I move the gun from my lap to the passenger side of the car and keeping one hand on the wheel, take off my shirt. I have a thin camisole underneath, so I'm able to use the fabric to stem the flow of blood. I peer down and inspect the wound. The bullet just grazed me, as evidenced by the clean hole in the dashboard.

I lean over and dig my new phone out of my bag. Blocking my number from the call, I dial one of the numbers I memorized.

"I am not happy," he says by way of greeting. I don't know how he knew it was me, but Dom _does_ have his ways.

"Well you weren't just shot at," I try to collect my thoughts. "For all I know, you were just shot at but that's something you're probably used to. However, I'm not, Dom!"

"You were shot at?" He inquires, mildly interested.

"I'm assuming you weren't the one that ordered my death?"  
"Why would I get rid of my most valuable asset? It is bad business."

"Look, Dom." I groan in pain. Getting shot really sucks. "I want my Grayson's files and letters. You get them to me, and I finish this delivery. If not, I won't think twice about driving this car into the Atlantic and using the money you so kindly let me keep to buy a one-way ticket out of this country."

I hear him huff. I genuinely think I surprised him.

"You don't know where I am," I add. "I think it's dangerous for me to go further south, so I'm going to need an incentive."

There's a pause where I hear shuffling of papers and additional voices in the background.

"Tomorrow morning, at the Westin in Jacksonville, I will have everything delivered."

"How can I trust it's everything?"

"Because if you do not deliver the product, I will find you," he replies simply.

It's enough of a threat. He doesn't need to say anymore.

"Who shot me?"

"Could be the Russo family…." He mutters.

Fuck, that's technically my family- biologically.

"Could be the Riviera family…"

"Riviera family?"

"Miami business," he informs me. "They are good people- family people."

"My arm says otherwise," I mutter, slightly repositioning the blood-soaked cloth on my arm.

There's an intake of breath and I can almost picture Dom sitting up and steepling his fingers ominously. "You are hurt?"

"I'm fine, Moretti."

I don't think he believes me.

"I want the items my dad left me. Tomorrow."

"And I want that car delivered."

"You mean the flash drive," I say, right before I hang up. That'll keep him occupied.

After thirty minutes of driving, I pull into a gas station. I put the safety back on my gun and move it into my backpack. I tie a clean shirt I found in my bag around the wound to stop the blood flow and with my bag over my shoulder, walk into the station.

I walk the aisles full of chips and candy until I find a health and wellness section with small packs of medicine. I scan the items until I find a first aid kit meant for a car. I take two kits, vodka, an energy drink, and grab a bag of Skittles on my way to the register.

After filling up the tank, I drive the car to a lit side of the parking lot and take care of the wound by cleaning the cut with vodka and butterflying the wound. I then wrap gauze around my arm several times over and secure it with medical tape. I have no clue what I'm doing and am basing everything off of a combination of common sense and reruns of Grey's Anatomy.

I'm going to need stitches, that much I know, except I can't exactly walk into an E.R. without them asking questions. Plus I have to get to Jacksonville. It'll have to wait.

I roll down the window as continue the drive south. I breathe in the cool night air, casually checking my rearview mirror whenever a car comes close. The radio plays a local classic rock station, reminding me of Damon. I don't want to admit it but thoughts of missing him float through my mind and into my heart. He'd know to make me laugh right now, probably with some dumb and inappropriate joke. He would've wanted to play a stupid car game, kids play on road trips and when I got bored, he'd give me one of those road trip coloring books to scribble in as a joke and insist on driving, reminding me that I have limits and a bullet hole in my arm is the very definition of a limit.

But he's not here.

I've been alone for so long, having him bug me these past few weeks has been something I didn't realize I needed.

He's probably so mad at me and I can't blame him, it's not like I gave him a whole lot of information on the phone. I should call him, but he'd freak out and probably charter a plane to meet me in Florida. I can picture Damon parachuting from a small crop duster just to be able to call me a stubborn idiot.

_Free Bird_ by Lynyrd Skynyrd comes on, so I turn up the music and softly sing along to the lyrics, trying to keep my mind off the pain in my arm. I continue down the highway, grateful I don't have to stop for gas again. Once I pull into the hotel at just past three in the morning, I sling my bag over my shoulder and ignoring the looks of horror on the valet's face, slip him a fifty, and walk through the lobby to the front desk.

I thought I'd have to get a room, but of course, there's one in my name. The front desk clerk gives me a funny look. "You're _the_ Elena Gilbert?"

I ignore the way he scans my body, his eyes fall on my arm and he goes back to his computer. "Yeah, so there's a reservation under my name?"

"Yes, there's a standing reservation for all of Mr. Moretti's…" he pauses, looking up at me again. His dark brown eyes land on my lips. I wipe them self consciously. Maybe they're a weird tropical color from the Skittles. He clears his throat. "Guests."

I frown. I don't want to be in a room that houses his "guests". What if there are cameras or what if one of his goons is hiding behind a curtain to finish me off. I provoked him with the flash drive comment. "I'd like to reserve a different room. I'll pay."

"You don't want the penthouse suite?"

Do I?

"No, a standard room with a bed is fine."

He shrugs and enters something into the computer. "I thought it'd be more comfortable for your guests."

"My guests?"

"Aren't you one of Mr. Moretti's girls?"

Oh…

I don't know how I feel about this accusation.

I point to my bloody forearm. "As you can see, not one of his girls."

The clerk barely glances at my arm because his eyes fall on my boobs. "Hey!" I snap my fingers and point my index finger in an accusatory fashion. "What the hell? Do you ogle all the guests like this? Should I talk to the manager?"

He checks behind him nervously. "Sorry," he replies, and he seems like he means it. "I'm just a fan." Fan? Did news of the trial hit Jacksonville? Damon said it was national news. I give the clerk my debit card to pay for the deposit. The clerk hands me an envelope with the keycard in it. I thank him and make my way to my room.

I don't check my bandage. I don't even brush my teeth. I drop my bag, move the gun to the nightstand, kick off my shoes, and fall into bed.


	26. Chapter 26

Author's note: Wow! This chapter ended up being longer than anticipated. It was a fun one to write, so I hope that you enjoy it. Thanks to all who read and review. :)

Chapter 26

Elena

"Oh, hell," I groan, clasping my arm and screaming into the hotel pillow. The searing pain in my arm intensifies, waking me up. I must've tried to lay on that side in my sleep. I was so tired when I got to my room, I slept right on top of the bed. I squeeze my eyes tight and reach for whatever's poking me in the arm. My car keys. They must've fallen out of my pocket and snagged on the now bloody gauze. When I look at the white duvet, there's a large blood spot where my arm was.

Blood is trickling down my arm again. I hop off the bed and rush to the bathroom, placing a towel over the wound, adding pressure. I need someone to stitch this up. My new phone rings and holding the towel, I run back to the bed and dig it out of my backpack. I already know who it is before I click accept. "At least I made you work for my number," I say into the phone, sitting down on the edge of the bed. If I remember correctly, I blocked him the one time I called him from this number.

"You already know I am a well-connected man," he says, his thick accent light with humor. "You are not staying in the penthouse I reserved for you."

"Well," I say, pausing to move the cloth. I suck in a breath as I reposition it. Damn, it aches. "When the front desk clerk referred to me as one of your girls, I was worried the debt I inherited included entertaining unexpected visitors."

"I do not think of you that way," he says, and he sounds angry. There's a definite edge to his voice. "You are hurt. I can hear it in your voice. I will send a doctor to your room."

That's a lot of information to digest in thirty seconds. "Is it a real doctor or a mafia doctor?"

"They are one and the same."

Okay, then.

"So, you called? Is this to give me information on where to pick up my father's things?"

"Hmmm," he hums into the phone. "That is a complicated situation."

"Dom, you promised."

"And I will fulfill that promise," he replies. "Take out the computer you purchased yesterday."

With one hand, I unzip my backpack and pull out the MacBook. I open it up and log on. Not at all surprised he knows I bought a computer. "Now what?"

"Insert the flash drive you found," he replies.

Wait, what?

"I scanned some of the information on there. I saw documents, ledgers, taxes, and memos. I didn't see anything about myself."

He chuckles darkly into the phone. "That is not information about my business."

"Whose business is it? I saw your name all over the documents."

"Are you sure about that?"

I insert the flash drive and click on the files I scanned yesterday. He's right, I assumed because I thought he was delivering the drive. I guess it is true what they say about assuming, it does make an _ass_ out of _u_.

"I have much more money than what you read," he says into the silence between us as I scan documents. "It is not important information."

"So why did you hide it in the car. I thought the product I was delivering was the flash drive."

"That is not the product you are delivering. The front seats have Chirow sewn into them." I didn't check the front seats; how could I be so dense? "There is a file titled Everglades Port, click on that and you will find another file titled _Lolita_, click on that file."

Lolita? Seriously?

I didn't see it before, but I didn't search every file. After looking through a few, they all seemed to be the same. I click on the file and it requires a password. "What's the password?"

"Cherry03," he says.

Odd password. I enter it in and the file opens up. It's scanned documents with dates listed below. I click on the first one and it's a letter addressed to me. "Where are the actual letters?"

"You will get them when you make the drop," he replies. "I am sending you a new drop point. The doctor is delivering extra ammunition. Call me when you reach Ft. Lauderdale."

"Sure," I say, scanning the files.

"Oh, and Ms. Gilbert?"

"Yeah?"

"You missed a tracker," he replies simply before hanging up.

I guess that's payback for dropping information at the end of our last phone call and then abruptly hanging up. There's a knock on the door, and I assume it's the doctor. I look through the peephole and see an older gentleman carrying a duffle that looks like it could be medical supplies. Still… "Who's there?"

"I can open the door with the keycard the front desk clerk gave me, but I decided the polite thing to do would be to knock before barging into the room to help you, Ms. Gilbert," he replies, sounding tired. He's probably used to these types of house calls. Being a mob doctor and all. "I'm Doctor Friedrich Zimmerman."

I open the door for him. He walks in and starts setting up shop on a small breakfast table near the bed. He glances at my arm. "Bullet wound?"

I nod. Good eye.

"Sit," he orders.

I don't. I kind of stand there, trying to decide if I should run or sit in the chair opposite him. He has salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He's in shape and looks at me through his silver-framed glasses impatiently. The navy polo and khakis tell me I interrupted a game of golf at some exclusive country club.

"If I don't fix your wound, it will become infected and you do not want that," he says, pointing to my arm. "I'm here to help you. Domenico pays me well for my services, so please sit down before you bleed all over the carpet."

I glance at the towel, it is starting to drip. I walk over to him and sit in the chair. On the table, he's laid out a blue medical cloth and laid out supplies. He puts on blue gloves and with his glasses perched on his nose, he gently removes the cloth dumps it into a plastic bag and starts to remove the gauze and butterfly bandaids I applied last night. "Did you put any ointment on the wound?"

"No, just vodka to sanitize it," I reply.

He nods and inspects the wound. "The bullet grazed you but it's deep. You're going to need stitches."

I figured as much. He takes out a syringe and fills it with a solution in a small glass bottle. "This is to numb the area. I'll also apply a topical numbing agent."

I nod. "Do you do this often? Clean up Moretti's messes?"

I'm distracting myself because holy hell, he inserts the syringe in my arm and it hurts like a bitch. "You're not one of Domenico's messes. He paid me extra to rush here. He doesn't do that for people he's not invested in."

_Great._

He cleans my wound and then dabs a solution on the area and we wait until the numbing kicks in. He prepares to do stitches until he decides he can sew me up. I look away as he starts stitching me up. "Do you help Domenico often?"

"I'm from Mystic Falls, Elena. Dom flew me in early this morning."

Must've been when he first heard from me.

"You're from Mystic Falls?"

"I learned from your father. The stitch I'm doing on you right now, he taught me. We worked together for a very short time."

"Grayson Gilbert isn't my father," I say, because I need to say it aloud as many times as I can so the information will stick. It's easier to place him in the category of not-father, but I forget, usually when I'm missing him.

"I know," he replies, continuing his work. "And for someone who isn't technically your father, he sure did brag about you a lot."

"Did you introduce my dad to Mr. Moretti?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," he says, continuing his work. "He introduced me to Domenico."

"Really?"

"Don't judge the actions of a desperate man," he replies. He's not mad, just keeping the conversation to keep me distracted. "I'm from a small town in eastern Germany. I moved to Mystic Falls after my wife got her dream job working at the university. I was already a doctor in Germany, but an old man wanting to practice in the United States is expensive. In Germany, I worked in the hospital and I was respected. In the United States, I had to take classes full of kids I was a few decades older than and the classes were expensive. Your father helped me out by introducing me to Domenico Moretti and letting me work with him for a short time."

"Why did you leave Germany when you already had a life there?"

He paused his stitch and looked up into my eyes, making sure I heard every word. "You follow love. My wife is my life, where she goes, so do I."

I frowned. Seems kind of selfish for her to move them across the world for a dream job.

"You don't know love," he replies after observing my reaction, his eyes back on stitching. "When you love someone, you're willing to give everything up just to be with them. I don't like it when my Hanna goes on a research trip without me. So my work with Mr. Moretti affords me the opportunity to go with her and treat her how she deserves."

I haven't called Damon except for leaving that message. What does that say about us? Deep down I know that I didn't want him to come because I knew he'd interfere. I could've gotten away with telling him where I was, I thought I got rid of the GPS trackers, after all. If Damon were here right now, he'd want to go to Miami on his own. He'd probably leave me in this hotel room to do it himself. I know deep down he just doesn't want me hurt, but I can concentrate without him here. I don't have to worry about dragging him into more family drama. He doesn't need this on his plate.

I lied to the police. Yes, it happened many years ago, but it ruined his life. I ruined his life. Maybe I'm still having a hard time believing his forgiveness.

"Ah," the doctor says. "You do know love."

My brows furrow. "Huh?"

"In ninety seconds, your face read every emotion known to man and you were so deep in thought, you didn't hear me tell you that I finished the stitches," he observes.

He's weird. I can see why Grayson liked him.

I look at my arm. There are small black stitches sticking out of my skin. He proceeds to show me how to care for my arm and places a bandage over the wound. "I will find you when it is time to remove them. Probably in ten days. That was deep, you are a lucky girl."

He cleans up his mess and packs his bag after handing me extra bandages and a couple tablets of pain medication. "This is not the good stuff, but it'll do the trick. Take it in an hour when the numbing wears off."

"Thank you," I say, walking him out.

He opens the door and turns back to me. "Your father loved you. I know you don't believe it, but I know from my heart he did."

After he leaves, I sit on the bed, open up my laptop, and start looking through the information my dad left me. I know I have to get on the road soon, but I can afford thirty minutes of searching. Most of the files are letters that I don't have time to read. Letters that were never sent, possibly because he was worried about Miranda intercepting it. I'm unsure.

Huh.

There are a few files that from the thumbnail picture have the blue tinge of official government certificates. The first one is Jeremy's death certificate. I don't know why he sent me this, considering his information lines up to what I already know. Intentional drug overdose. Suicide. Words that have floated through my mind since he passed away. Then I click on another. It's a birth certificate for Viviana Elena Giovanni. Female. Manhattan, New York.

_Is that…_

I look at the date and do the math.

_No. _

_ Seriously, no. _

_ How?_

_ Seriously, why?_

"I'm seventeen?" I yell, knowing no one can hear my outrage.

Maybe this is a cousin. Or a half-sister that I've never met.

Then I see written under mother, Isabella Russo, and father, Antonio Giovanni. He was there when I was born. Giuseppe's version of events was different. According to him, I was hidden by the Founding Families and no one ever knew I existed. Antonio knew. Where was Isabella when her daughter was given to the Gilberts?

_I'm seventeen._

According to this document, I turned seventeen two weeks ago. My birthday was the day after the cabin. I was fifteen when I got my driver's license. I should technically be in my junior year of high school.

I want to start reading Grayson's letters because I have a feeling they'll give me answers, but instead, I pack everything up and check out of the hotel.

I doubt the valet realized he was probably sitting on thousands of dollars of drugs when he pulled up with the Rav. I'm completely gobsmacked by the news that I don't remember getting on the interstate going south. My whole world has been turned inside out. I'm seventeen. _Holy hell. _I won't be eighteen and legal for another year.

With the ocean on my left, my brain doesn't have time to digest everything. I decide to call the one person who knows what I'm going through.

"Yes?"

"Did you know?"  
"You are going to have to be more specific," he replies huskily, but I hear the humor in his voice. Of course, he thinks this is funny.

"My birth certificate," I stated through gritted teeth.

"Ms. Gilbert, I liked you at sixteen and I like you at seventeen."

"Gross."

"In many countries, you would be at the age of marriage," he states like it's the most normal thing in the world.

I don't buy it.

"You mean, in the mafia world it is perfectly normal," I argue. "You wouldn't bat an eye at kidnapping me to Las Vegas."

He growls on the other end. "Do not tempt me, Ms. Gilbert."

"Does the Russo or Giovanni families know about me?"

He pauses.

"Both names were on the certificate. You saw the certificate. I know you're trying to compete with them, even though you're small potatoes by comparison. I can see why you're stringing me along, it's only beneficial to you. However, if either family knows about me, I might just have to make myself known," I lie, trying to get him to spill what he knows. He has to hear things. "Collect my inheritance. You know how badly I could use the money."

I don't have to be looking at him to know I just pissed him off.

"I have been kind to you, Ms. Gilbert," he reminds me. "You know who I am and you know that I can have men pick you up and take you to my compound in a matter of minutes."

"Kind to me?" I laugh. "You are using me for your own gain, or entertainment, I'm no longer sure. I'm sitting on your product that according to you, only I can deliver. You screwed over my dad and my mom screwed over me by selling information to you. Now I owe you for their mistakes. You know what, I am sure about what this is, I take my earlier comment back. I am here to entertain you. Take up a fucking hobby like ceramics or cross-stitching and leave me the fuck alone."

"Language, Ms. Gilbert," he says calmly. He's not mad, he's placating me. "You are my hobby and you are taking up a lot of my time. You did not look through all the files, I suggest you do so. Follow the directions I sent you can call me when I arrive."

"Yes, master," I say in my best imitation of Barbara Eden.

"Ms. Gilbert," he growls.

_Again, gross. _

"I'm seventeen" I remind him and myself cause this is all still weird.

"But you will not always be seventeen."

And then he hangs up.

What is my life? Seriously? Everywhere I turn there are people ready to use me and ruin any semblance of happiness or hope that I have.

I have no hope.

I am a pawn for revenge, power, and money.

Moretti, Giovanni, Russo. Three powerful names that want me because of my DNA and what that means to their power. They're already taking power away from me, draining me little by little.

I can't do this. I pull over, open the car door, and run into the wild brush. Leaning over, I heave the hotel coffee I drank when I started this leg of the journey. Sweat coats my brow as car after car speeds by. The humid fall air doesn't help my current predicament. Minutes pass and my stomach continues to lurch until my knees buckle and I fall to the ground. The freeway gravel bites into my thighs, but I don't care. I sit with my head in my hands and allow myself to think a thought I didn't want to admit earlier. I wish Damon were here.

Then it starts. Loud, ugly sobs overcome me at the thought of having my friend, the one who sat under the kitchen table with me after my parents argued and held my hand. I can't call him. I can't allow myself to drag him into this. I don't know what I'll face in Ft. Lauderdale and I still don't know who those guys were that chased me in the mall.

I need to focus on one thing. One thing I can handle right now. I can get up. I can stop crying. I can start the car and I can drive. So that's what I do. I wipe my face, stand up, walk back to the driver's side door, and continue my journey.

Damon

"We've hit a snag," Santiago says and to his credit, he looks scared.

"What kind of snag?"

"The Reyes cartel is now involved."

The moment I heard the news of a shoot-out in Macon, Georgia, I was set to go. The jet was fueled and ready to depart. However, because the Mystic Falls PD has it out for me, they decided to bring me in for questioning regarding the Elmwood estate fire. Even though I have an alibi for the fire I set, there's video of me running a stoplight within a mile of the scene of the crime within the time the fire was set. Cameron, who said he was billing me triple, got me out just after midnight.

Information on a shoot out in Macon, Georgia, and a girl matching Elena's description busting through a parking attendant barrier, happened six hours ago. Santiago is supposed to be looking through CCTV footage to locate Elena.

"How do you know?"

"CCTV footage shows them following her from the moment she drove through Atlanta; their territory is south of Atlanta through Florida," he explains.

"Why are they following her?"

"They have people in Mystic Falls, just like Moretti has people everywhere. They probably saw her with Moretti and then saw her leave in one of his cars."

His mission probably involved Elena delivering his drug somewhere south. It's not a stretch considering what he's already had her do. I mentally think of Moretti's interests and have a feeling he's trying to get into Miami. The Reyes cartel is based out of Miami, my guess is they'd be pissed if Moretti was trying to distribute in their territory.

Moretti using Elena's charm to get his new product into the Miami territory is likely. He was probably surprised she sold what he gave her within the time constraints.

Or this could be Moretti's in. His way of developing a relationship with the Reyes cartel by slipping his product in their territory. While the Families own cities like Chicago and New York, the cartels own the south- they own the boarders. A mafia family developing a relationship with a cartel could be huge. However, it doesn't happen because it's against the mafia's way of doing things. It's against their code. Moretti is branching out and doing anything to gain more power. Using Elena to develop that relationship seems likely. Slipping her in there to impress them, they capture Elena and Moretti swoops in to not only save her but get their attention. He sells his new product and bam, a new port, and a new distributor. It's a stretch, but Moretti is new, he's not an established family. He doesn't have a limit to how far he'll go for power.

"We know what car she's driving. The only thing I care about is finding her. We know where she's being sent, so that narrows our search. Find her and have your local contacts take her. I don't care if you have to kidnap her while she's pumping gas, she can't go to Miami." She'd kill me, but she'd be alive. "How many views is the video at?"

Santiago clears his throat. "Twenty-million."

Jesus.

"That quickly?"

"I don't know if you know this, sir, but pornography is pretty popular."

In seconds, my right-hand squeezes into a fist and punches Santiago across the face. He isn't knocked out, but he falters to the ground, holding his jaw. "I fucking know porn is popular," I growl, looking down at him. "Who was the buyer?"

He opens his mouth to stretch it and wipes blood coming from a split lip. "Starr Industries."

Great. Preferring the real thing over some scripted cheesy as fuck video, I never saw the allure of porn, but even I know Starr Industries. Twenty-million views means they've already made ten times that. People will know who Elena Gilbert is all over the world, which means the families know she's alive and where she is. I look at my phone, tracking her route from Macon to Miami. Time is not on my side, I need to get her into hiding now.

"I'm taking one of the family jets to West Palm Beach," I say. "Put your whole team on finding her. Call me the moment you have her, if not, I'll find her no matter the cost."

Santiago nods and leaves.

Goddammit. Noah is in jail but I want to kill him, Chase, and Frederick.

I miss her. The smell of her vanilla shampoo, the way she smiles after her first sip of one of my coffee concoctions, the way she laughs when I say something that might be considered offensive. She'd curl up against me at night and hold onto me like she was afraid I'd leave. She emits this contended sigh that immediately gets my dick hard. The night she was dressed up as Wonder Woman and stripped, she did the same thing when she fell asleep against me at the club. It's like she knew it was me.

After that night in August, I should've taken care of her. I shouldn't have abandoned her, even if my dad sent me to rehab. I could've left that weekend and protected her from what I knew was coming.

We have enemies coming at us at all sides and the one thing I know for sure is that I need her.

Elena

For the past hour, a black sedan has been following me and I can't lose him. I tried speeding, swerving around cars, taking detours, and the same sedan ends up right on my ass. I eye the needle praying it'll go up past the red line. I'm twenty miles from Ft. Lauderdale, where no one would dare do anything in broad daylight. At least, I think.

If I let myself run out of gas, I'm a sitting duck for all of thirty seconds before they kill me and grab what's in the car. If I go to a gas station, there'll be cameras everywhere. Except I can't go in to pay. I don't think I can pump gas without the car getting taken since the gas cap is on the passenger side. If I run the gas low enough, they won't be able to get away. I just need to wait until I can find one of those gas stations where truckers stop. Uncle John always said that if I was ever in trouble truck drivers are some of the nicest people on the road. Trust company drivers, he told me.

My eyes flick to a green sign on the side of the road.

One more mile to the Love's Truck Stop.

Fifteen to Ft. Lauderdale.

I look at the needle again.

I'm not going to make it.

What would Moretti do if I don't deliver the drugs? Up the timeline of his plan to marry me. Kill Damon. Neither is an option.

I look in my rearview mirror and watch the black sedan. The windows are tinted, so I can't make out who's in there or how many. I take my debit card out of my pocket and hold it between my fingers so I'm ready to go. With one hand on the wheel, I unplug my phone and put it in the pocket of my sweater. Then I take the gun out of the glove compartment and move it to the back of my jean shorts, using my zip-up sweatshirt to hide the bulk.

Keeping my aviator sunglasses on, I dig through a messy pile of the few items of clothes I have and towels I stole from the hotel laying out on the passenger's seat until I find the Gators baseball cap I bought outside of Jacksonville. I put it on and check the mirror again. Still following closely but is now behind an old Ford Taurus.

Because it's a truck stop, there are a lot of gas pumps. I search for one that's between two pumps and pull up to the middle pump. A blue van filled with kids sits in front of where I park. Behind the Rav, the beat-up Taurus backs up behind me so our rear bumpers are less than a couple feet apart. Shitty parking job. Their gas cap must be on the passenger side.

On the other side of the pump is a large Ford F150 truck. This will have to do. I'm blocked on three sides and there are enough people around that no one would dare try anything.

I pull a switch beneath the steering wheel to unlock the gas door. I grab my incredibly heavy backpack, sling it over my shoulder, hop out of the car, lock it with a press of a button, and run to the other side of the car. I insert my debit card once it's accepted, I remove the nozzle and start pumping.

I swear I chose the slowest pump. I'm dancing in place, waiting for the gas to fill enough for me to get to Ft. Lauderdale.

Keeping one hand on the nozzle, I look at my surroundings. The black sedan parked in front of the truck stop. A woman wearing a white shirt with Micky Mouse on the front walks out carrying bags of drinks and junk food. She walks over to the van in front of me and gets in, handing items to her kids.

Shit, my cover on that side will be gone.

Whoever is in the black sedan sitting right in front of the shop thinks I'll go in when I'm done. With the F150 blocking me, I might be able to lose black sedan before they realize I left.

I glance behind me at the Taurus. A man in greasy blue coveralls, wearing a trucker hat that's pulled low, gets out of the passenger side of the car. Catching my gaze, he licks his dry, chapped lips, nods at me, and walks around his car so he can pump gas while his friend sits waiting in the driver's seat, playing with the radio stations.

The pump finally clicks that it's done and keeping an eye on the front of the truck stop, put the nozzle back and close the gas cap. I run around the car, unlock the front door and just as I swing the door open I feel what is unmistakably a gun pressed into my ribcage. I move slightly, praying he doesn't realize I have a weapon in the waistband of my shorts. In the window, I see a reflection of the guy in coveralls behind me. "Give me the keys," he growls.

"I've already been shot, I'd rather not be again," I argue.

"Keys," he repeats.

I need to stall. "Do you really want this car? Did you see how banged up it is? Now your '92 Taurus, that's a nice car. Hey, what about the Ford F150? Wouldn't you rather drive that? Go big or go home, that's what I always say."

He leans in closer so I can smell the his rotten breath. "Keys now, or I'll leave your pretty little body here for my friend over there."

"Okay." I rise to the balls of me feet, readying myself curling my fingers around the keys in my hand. "You asked for it!"

I fling the keys into the trunk of the F150 and in the chaos over the shock of what I did, I run around the pumps. Gunshots ring through the air as I sprint past the black sedan with tinted windows, and into the truck stop's store.

I am so tired of being shot at. Can the mafia and drug cartel please give me twenty-four hours of peace to recover? My arm still freaking hurts.

I slide past attendants working at the gas station unnoticed as they try to figure out what's going on. A massive man with a handlebar mustache and a paunch belly hanging over his jeans pulls out a shotgun from behind the register.

Time to jet.

I pull the other strap of my backpack over my shoulder and walk to the back toward the bathrooms. In truck stops, bathrooms are different than a regular gas station because there's an area of private bathrooms where truck drivers can shower. They're pretty clean since you have to pay to use them. I run down a hallway full of doors to private showers and credit card machines on the outside. Looking both directions and making sure the coast is clear, I slide my card through the machine. When my card is accepted, a green light comes on indicating that I can go inside.

I step in and shut the door. It locks with a click and the green light turns to red. A timer flashes on the door; fifteen minutes to figure out what to do next.

I place my backpack down, and opening the sliding glass door to the shower, turn it on. Last thing I need is for someone with a gun to figure out I'm hiding in a bathroom with a timer readying to go off like a sitting duck.

I pace back and forth in the small bathroom.

I'm in South Florida and I lost my only mode of transportation. I could call Dom and tell him I failed his mission but that may lead to Damon being killed and me walking down the aisle handcuffed to a man twice my age.

The brand new Rav4 Domenico ordered me to drive was full of bullet holes and had a massive dent in the front from leaving the mall last night. There's no way Ford Taurus guy wanted the car, he had to have been part of the same group that wanted the drugs Dom stored in the front seats of the Rav.

Are the suits from yesterday and the coverall guys from the same group?

Maybe?

Are the suits in the black sedan?

That's more likely. _Great, I think I'm in the middle of some drug war. _

I have money, maybe I can pay one of the truck drivers to take me the fifteen miles to Ft. Lauderdale.

There, I have a plan. Now I have to figure out how to get out of here without being abducted or killed. I open the front pocket of my backpack up and put a few hundred dollars in the pocket of my jean shorts. Once I zip up the backpack and secure the straps over my shoulders, I take out the gun currently in the waistband of my shorts. Making sure the safety is off, I ready it in my hands.

I glance at the timer. Eight minutes left. I turn off the shower and open the door a crack. I look both directions and spot an exit down the hallway and make a run for it until I'm tugged backward by my backpack.

A gloved hand clamps over my mouth. I struggle and try to get a good shot at his leg but he's strong and easily disarms me with his other hand. I'm pulled into the private bathroom I just left and pressed against the wall. I bite hard on the gloved hand. My captor curses but his hand remains covering my mouth.

There's something familiar about the way he said, "Fuck."

I bite harder into the gloved hand.

"Dammit, Elena!"

His arms release me and I take a big breath. When I catch my breath, I turn toward him. Damon's wearing a white tee beneath a leather jacket and dark wash jeans. His dark locks are mussed and wild.

He takes his glove off and examines the bite mark. Baby.

"You scared the shit out of me!" I yell.

His head shoots up and eyes that look like they haven't slept in days, glare at me. He looks murderous and scary and at this moment, I see someone I haven't seen in awhile: the Prince of Darkness. Injured finger forgotten, he takes a steady and sure stride toward me.

_Oh, shit. I'm fucked._

"I scared the shit out of you?" He utters, his voice barely above a whisper. Deathly calm. "You ditched Santiago and Malohi during a fire drill, then you left a message saying that you were going on some mission for a psychopath that's obsessed with you and then I can't get ahold of you _at all_! Do you know how many people I had to put on finding you?"

"I didn't ask you to follow me!" I meet his anger by stepping forward. "I was doing just fine!"

He takes another step forward, backing me against the tile wall. "Do you know how I ended up finding you?"

Heat and anger radiates off him in ripples. With his square jaw, Roman nose, and high cheekbones, he could be a statue found in any museum. Pure stone and beneath that, rage and desire. He licks his lips slightly, and takes off my hat and sunglasses, tossing them without a care to the floor. He tugs the strap of my backpack and pulls it off of me. His head lowered so it's almost touching mine, he slowly unzips my hoodie. "Damon…" I let out in an exhale. "We don't have time for whatever this is. We need to go."

"We have time," he states.

Sure hands reach into my hoodie and under my tank. With his head lowered, he repeats his words in a desperate, strangled whisper. "Do you know how I ended up finding you?"

His fingers dance around the hem of my shorts. My body bows toward him and a flush travels through my body, radiating heat, and desire.

"Answer me."

My eyes are focused on what his hands are doing to me. Watching them mold me into a wanton puppet. His for the taking. I can't remember what he asked so I shake my head.

"Unbutton your shorts."

I shake my head again.

Long, calloused fingers dance up my shirt and beneath my breasts. I moan and feel my cheeks heat. Now's not the time to be feeling lusty over Damon. But his hands do things.

"Do. It." He hisses, flipping out the cups of my bra and palming my breast with one hand while the other falls to my ass and squeezes.

A crashing noise echoes from outside the bathroom. Snapping out of the spell he so easily puts me under, I push him off me and slap him. Caught off guard, Damon stumbles backward.

"You can't just barge into my life and insist I do what you say," I shout, pointing my finger all over the place.

He stalks forward. "A shoot out at some mall in Macon, Georgia," he yells back. "Security footage of you busting through an exit. That's how I found you. Don't think I didn't notice the bullet holes in your car."

I push him away from me but he doesn't budge, instead, his hands find the button of my jean shorts. I grab him by the wrists and try to push him away, but with my arm still being sore, my attempts are a joke. "You are an ass! I. AM. FINE!"

His large hand wraps around my throat, he pushes me against the wall in a possessive and manic grip. It doesn't really hurt, but it definitely makes me rub my thighs together. He catches me and I scowl at his dark smirk.

Tilting my head up, he glares at me. "You could've died. You may have no regard for your life, but I do."

Damon's lips crash on mine. Still pissed, I keep my lips clamped shut and don't kiss back. However, he's unrelenting and I don't last long, especially when his hand drops from my neck and dips into my panties and massages my slit with two of his fingers. Not quite giving me what I need but doing enough to get me to bend to his will and hump his hand. It's damn annoying.

I break our consuming kiss to lean my head into the crook of his neck to take a breath. Damon doesn't stop, he continues to mark every inch of me with his mouth. "More," I breathed into his clavicle. He smells so good; one-hundred percent pure man and also gun powder.

My shorts and panties are somehow across the bathroom. Damon's leather jacket and gloves lay on top of them. My gun is in the sink. It's such a bizarre scene but for some reason, it feels like us. We're messy and angry and complicated and I don't think we'll ever not be.

I'm on the edge about to fall over, biting into his shirt. He drops his hand. I cry out in frustration and move my hand to my clit to finish the job he won't but he doesn't let me.

He presses me up against the wall and distracts me by pressing his lips to mine. His tongue slides against mine and I suck on it, earning a groan of satisfaction from him. Then he takes a step back and flips me around so I'm facing the wall. The sound of a belt buckle being undone and a zipper coming down have me panting with anticipation.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

His chest blankets my back and I feel his cock slide against my ass and then glide along my slit. "Bad girls don't get to come," he hisses in my ear. "I don't think you deserve my cock."

Slowly he trails his hot member until the head touches my clit. He grabs my hips and continues to slowly slide his cock back and forth without penetration. One of his hands reaches around my hips and pinches my clit. I scream out, again on the edge. I just need a little more. I move my ass toward him, prompting him to penetrate me. "Fucking finish the job," I shout. "I'm going crazy."

With my words, he withdraws. I feel cool air on my backside. Again, driven to the edge and abandoned. My head rests on the cool tile while I wait for my breathing to calm. I hear a grunt and the unmistakable sound of…

I turn my head. Damon is standing behind me rubbing his cock, his brow furrowed staring at me with my palms on the wall, naked from the waist down. I watch his slow ministrations, back and forth of his hand working his cock in expert strokes, getting off on my ass. The action, so dirty and degrading makes me ache with a need I've never felt before.

His grey eyes catch me staring. "Turn around and keep your palms on the wall or you won't get to finish."

My head snaps back to the wall. "Good girl," he chuckles darkly.

"Please, Damon."

"Please, what?"

"I need you," I whine. God, I sound pathetic.

With those words, I feel his release on my backside. His hand massages it into my ass and then slaps my ass. He does it again and again then pulls my hips to him. He leans over and hisses in my ear. "Are you going to shut me out again?"

"Probably," I mutter, glutton for punishment.

That earns me another slap. I groan. Jesus, why does this feel so good?

"Try again." His voice is husky and controlled, his hand slides into my slit. I release a slow moan. "You're soaked."

Dammit. I can feel him doing it again; he's going to leave me here, shaking from built-up tension.

"I won't shut you out," I breathe into the cream-colored tile.

He sweetly kisses me right below my ear. "That's good, baby."

Then he enters me with a punishing thrust.

"Oh, God," I moan, he's so deep, I feel him everywhere.

Damon slowly and luxuriously pulls out and then stops. "You're not leaving me, ever again."

"What?" I gasp, confused.

"Say it," he demands.

"No!" He's being unreasonable.

Painfully slowly, he thrusts the head of his cock in and holds it there. I lean back, trying to rock into him but his strong hands hold my hips still. "Say it."

I close my eyes. This is more painful than the gunshot wound hidden beneath my sweatshirt. Thank god, Damon seems to be a man sexually possessed and hasn't seen the bandage. He moves forward slightly, intensifying the burning ache. "Just let me come, please, Damon."

"Say it," he grits out, slapping my ass. Hard.

When I don't say anything, he starts to pull out again. "Fuck, fine!"

He pauses, waiting.

I hesitate for one second and that earns me another spank.

"I- wonleaveougain," I rush out so quickly, I'm surprised he understood what I said.

Holding my hip he slams into me, hitting all the right spots. I brace myself against the wall, panting. "Oh, God."

"Say it again," he orders, digging his fingers into my hip.

"I won't leave you again."

"Damn right," he says, turning my head so he can devour my mouth like he's devouring every other part of me. Mind and soul, I am focused on him. His touch. His soft lips. The way he leans his forehead on mine when he needs to take a breath. The possessive way he squeezes my hips to steady me. His frantic thrusts.

Damon reaches around me using his fingers, he uses my arousal as a lubricant to massage my clit. I come within seconds of contact. An animalistic scream of satisfaction escapes me. He withdraws and twists me around so my back is splayed on the wall. With his mouth fused to mine, he wraps my legs around him so he can hit spots deep within me. His thrusts become more hurried and frantic until I feel his release. He massages my clit again and I come again, with him.

"Jesus, you're milking my cock," he mutters into the crook of my neck.

I sigh because that's all I can do. I am spent.

He stays like that, blanketing me against the wall, with my legs wrapped around him and his hands pressed up against the tile. "You can't do that again," he says.

"I know," I breathed. He's right, I was being reckless and stupid.

Damon lifts his head up slowly, grazing his nose along my jaw before giving me the sweetest of sweet kisses. So soft and tender. I open my mouth to him and I feel him harden. _Jesus, again?_

He slowly rocks into me. We may be in a very clean bathroom that charges by the minute, Damon fucks me as he would at home- with everything he has. It's the only time he gives me all of himself when he's consumed with possessing me.

His lips don't leave mine while he slowly thrusts in and out in long languid motions until I feel myself fall over the edge with him. "Damon," I cry into his mouth.

"I know, baby," he says, kissing me through both our releases.

When our heart rates have returned to a somewhat normal beat, he grabs me by the hips and helps me down. Then he leans over and presses his lips to my forehead. "Let me take care of you."

Damon slowly removes my sweatshirt but when his eyes catch the bandage, he groans. However, he doesn't say anything. He kisses my arm right above the bandage and then continues to take off my tank and unhook my bra. Then he takes his own shirt and wraps it around my wound to protect it from water. When we're both undressed, he scoops me up and carries me into the shower.

Keeping my right arm away from the water, Damon cleans me like I'm something precious. I groan when he massages shampoo into my hair. I let out a contented sigh and lean into him. "Dip your head back," he instructs.

Damon carefully rinses my hair, kisses me on the neck, and whispers that I smell good. Then he slaps my butt and tells me to get out. I giggle. I've been shot at more times than I'd like to count in the past twenty-four hours and I'm giggling.

We don't have towels, so I use my discarded sweatshirt to dry myself off and put my clothes back on. I find a comb in my bag and dry my hair with the built-in hairdryer. After turning off the shower, Damon uses my sweatshirt to dry off his glorious body and puts on his jeans. He walks over to me and unties his shirt from around my arm. His fingers graze the bandage, inspecting the wound. "You're going to tell me about that."

He checks the silencer on his gun before putting it in the back of his jeans. puts his gun in the back of his jeans before putting his jacket back on, he puts on his leather jacket, and hands me my gun, still sitting in the sink. "You may need this again."

I turn on the safety and dump it in the front pocket of my backpack. I need a break from guns, but if I need it like Damon says I might, I can get to it. I put my cap and sunglasses on, but throw the now wet sweatshirt away while Damon puts on his shoes.

"How are we leaving?"

"You're going to follow close behind me."

"Not much of a plan," I mutter.

"You'll be fine."

Is the black sedan still there, or did the guys follow the Rav 4 Domenico wants me to deliver? That's what I was hoping for by hiding out in the bathroom. Maybe Damon was too which is why he did such a great job of helping me pass the time.

And what about the police? Surely the store would've called them to report a shooting, but as I follow Damon out of the private bathroom, it seems like it's business as usual. Damon even spends time perusing the aisles getting us snacks and drinks.

The cashier rings up out chips, candy, and bottles of water and gives Damon a friendly nod. "Thanks for earlier, man."

Damon smirks. "No problem."

Huh?

The cashier bags up our items and doesn't charge us as a thank you to Damon for whatever he did.

I walk out of the store absolutely dumbstruck but am brought right back to reality when I spot the black sedan still parked. "Damon!" I hiss.

But Damon ignores me, walks right to the black sedan, and opens the passenger door for me. "You were the one following me?"  
He shrugs. "You wouldn't pull over or stop, how was I going to tell you?"

"If I'd have known it was you," I point to the area around us. "None of this would've happened."

"Get in the car, Elena."

I search for the Rav 4, maybe it's still there and I can ditch Damon.

"I don't mind making you get in this car."

I roll my eyes and shuffle toward him. The Rav is gone and so is the Ford F150.

I plop in the passenger seat. Damon reaches over and snaps in the seatbelt, then tugs on the strap before walking around and getting the driver's side. He takes out a bottle of water, opens it, and gives it to me, then does the same for himself. We sit in silence for a few minutes.

"Explain."

I take a deep breath and tell him about being called to the principal's office and finding Domenico there. I tell him about the bribe he offered Principal Hale. I explain the car waiting for me in the back of the school and asking Dom to pull the fire alarm. I tell him about taking out all the trackers and cameras and missing one. When I explain parking in Macon and stripping the car to find out what Dom was having me deliver, he smirks.

"What did you find?"

"A flash drive."

"This was at the mall, right?"

I nod. "I went inside to buy a computer and phone."

"And you didn't think to call me?" He doesn't seem angry but almost there.

"I thought about it," I reply honestly.

He seems to let whatever anger he had go. "What was on the flash drive?"

"I'll get to that later."

Oh, God. How is he going to react when he finds out I'm seventeen?

I glance at Damon, who's taking another sip of water and has proceeded to open up a bag of peanut M & M's. He pops one in his mouth while checking our surroundings. He won't care.

"Continue," he orders, popping another M & M in his mouth and placing a handful in my outstretched palm. I munch on one before explaining the guys that followed me through the mall and the subsequent shoot out in the parking garage.

"Is that how you got shot?"  
"When I drove away," I explain. "Right before driving through the parking barrier."

"Did you go to the hospital?"

I'm more worried about this part of the story than anything else.

"No, when I looked at the flash drive, I saw bank statements, ledgers, and delivery times. I thought he wanted me to deliver information hidden in the car. So once I got on the highway and knew I wasn't being followed, I called Domenico and told him I wouldn't deliver the car unless he gave me the letters and papers Grayson left me. He arranged for a doctor to meet me in Jacksonville where I thought he'd deliver the items."

"_He_ arranged for a doctor to see you?"

I don't like the way he emphasized "he" but I continue. "Yes, and then he told me that Grayson's papers were put on the flash drive, hidden in a folder. The flash drive was a fake-out."

"How so?"

"The ledgers and everything are old or fake. The person that's supposed to meet me in Miami was supposed to hand the flash drive over to me, but I discovered it early. Moretti explained that I was delivering his product sewn into the front seats."

"But the car is gone. One of the guys following you drove off in it before we could get to him," he explains.

"What happened to the other guy?"

"Don't worry about it."

Is that why he kept me in that bathroom for so long, to keep me distracted while the scene was being cleaned up by the owner?

"You smelled like gun powder."

He shrugs. "He tried to kill you."

I nod in understanding. This is Florida, after all. If the situation was reversed, I can't say I'd do anything different.

"What was on the flash drive?" I hesitate. "I know you looked at it."

_Gives You Hell_, by The All-American Rejects plays from my bag.

"What's that?"

I reach in the bag, take out my phone, and answer. "What?"

"That is no way to greet me, Ms. Gilbert."

Damon takes the phone out of my hands and puts it on speaker. I place my index finger on my lips and then make a slashing motion across my throat. In other words, he better not freaking say a word.

"Mr. Moretti, how may I help you this fine afternoon?" I say in my sweetest voice.

I hear him clear his throat. "Better, Ms. Gilbert. I would like to know where you are going in my car."

The GPS on the Rav must still be on.

"There was a complication."

"I do not like complications. There have already been too many complications."

"Mr. Moretti, I have no doubt that my death would be an even greater complication for you."

"Explain."

"I was carjacked at a gas station."

"If my product is not secure, I will have to assume you will no longer be an asset, you will be a liability. You do not want to be a liability, Ms. Gilbert."

Damon has taken out his gun and looks like he wants to shoot the phone, which would really suck because it's new and pretty.

"I have your product, Domenico. Threaten me again and I'll scatter it in the Atlantic Ocean and go to the police with all the information I have on you," I say. Damon gives me a sever look but I roll my eyes. He doesn't know how Dom and I operate. This conversation is pretty much how all our conversations go.

"I do not think they would believe a porn star, Ms. Gilbert," he throws out casually. "Deliver my product to the address I am sending you."

Porn star? What's he talking about?

"I'm guessing the cartel has your car."

"They have ditched it, which is why I called you. You are to deliver the product alone. My contact is expecting you and no one else. If there is someone else there, he will see it as a threat and shoot you on sight. The lack of the car is an added complication, so the location and time of rendezvous have changed from earlier."

I look at Damon, who looks crazed with his gun in hand and the other white-knuckling the wheel of the car. He won't even look at me, he's just staring straight ahead. I should really jump out of the car and take my chances hitchhiking.

"Fine," I say.

"This is a very important delivery, Ms. Gilbert. Do not fail."

He hangs up. I look at the address and time he sent me then map it while Damon broods.

"I don't like this, Elena."

"I don't like it either. Blame Miranda for literally selling me out. Take your anger out on her, not me."

"I think you like it," he says.

"What?"

Damon places the gun in a holster underneath his seat. He doesn't explain his comment, instead, he starts the car and pulls out of the gas station.

After a few minutes of being on the road, I have to ask. "Why do you think Moretti said I'm a porn star?"


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Note: Thank you for being patient! So much happens in the rest of part one, that I wanted to have it completely written before I started posting. Part one is officially complete, so I'll be posting often over the next few days. I hope you enjoy chapter 27!

Chapter 27

Elena

Things got weird.

"Go back to Mystic Falls, Damon!" I yell, pushing him out of the way. We're arguing in the middle of a sidewalk. People have officially whipped out their phones to record but I don't care. Like the Prince of Darkness he is, Damon gives everyone looking on and filming a glare that plainly says, he won't hesitate to end them. He's ridiculous but effective. People now walk around us.

"You're not doing this, Elena!"

"If you come with me, we'll get shot. I can do this on my own while you keep the car running."

"Moretti is messing with you! Don't you get it? He's sending you on a while goose chase. I wouldn't be surprised if those men that shot at you in Macon work for Moretti," Damon argues. "He likes it when you have to call him! That man picks up on the first ring, have you noticed that?"

"You cannot be comparing our situation to some sort of reverse '_he's just not that into you_' scenario!"

"Our situation? OUR SITUATION? So now you and Moretti are an _our_?"

"You are insane!" I scream. "I'm taking a cab."

"Not wearing that, you're not."

"Isn't being a manic asshole exhausting?" I counter.

"He made us go to five different locations, each of which had an item of clothing to pick up before giving us the final location for the drop-off. He told you to wear them, Elena! Don't you get how creepy that is?"

"You've picked out my clothing before, on several occasions."

"That is completely different and you know it."

I lean against the car and fold my arms. "How, exactly?"

I want him to say it. I want him to define what we are because right now, he's driving me to the point of insanity. I need to meet Dom's associate in fifteen minutes and Damon won't let me go.

"He's twice your age and crazy obsessed with you."

He didn't say it.

"You are crazy. Seriously, Damon. It's not like I'm going to fuck Dom's associate."

"You look like you will in what HE picked out for you."

I'm wearing a designer cherry red three-quarter sleeve body-con dress that perfectly covers up the gunshot wound but also is very short and has almost no back. The black heels are those fancy ones with the red sole. Damon didn't lose his shit over the dress, he lost if over the panties that Dom got me because it was just panties. No bra and honestly, this dress doesn't work with a bra.

Since I blew out my hair earlier at the truck stop, I'm able to tie it into a sleek ponytail. Domenico also left makeup at one spot and a place for me to change. He even arranged for a tote bag to be delivered so I have something to put the drugs in. It fits perfectly in the designer tote bag he also left me. Thoughtful, in a weird and gross way. I doubt Moretti went to these lengths for Grayson or Miranda.

But this is my life, apparently. I haven't checked my email or thought about school in days. I haven't had a moment to catch up on homework that Principal Hale collected for me and honestly, I don't care to finish it.

I'm meeting his associate at the Princeton South Beach Hotel bar but I haven't told Damon where I'm meeting the associate. I don't want him ruining the drop-off. He just knows I'm meeting him at a bar.

Dom said his associate would find me and call me by my name. Damon doesn't want me to go alone and I get it, but I don't feel like pissing off Domenico. He's unpredictable and the weird scavenger hunt he made me go on today just proves that.

"Seriously, Damon. Either take me to the hotel and wait outside or fly back to Mystic Falls on Daddy's private jet."

That pissed him off, but I don't have time for his anger. Standing on the side of the street next to Damon's car, I easily hail a cab and hop inside before Damon realizes what I just did. "Princeton South Beach Hotel," I say to the driver. "I'll pay you an extra hundred if you can ditch the black sedan that's about to tail us."

I guess the driver gets that request a lot because he doesn't bat an eye. He swerves to take a hard left at a yellow light and we've officially lost Damon.

I look through the bag I'm carrying and find my phone. Damon has quite literally blown up my new phone. I'm surprised it didn't burst into flames in my hand with the amount if incoming phone calls and text messages I'm getting. So I do the logical thing and turn it off.

When I place the phone back in my bag, my stomach drops. I dig through the contents, my wallet, lipstick, thousands- possibly millions of dollars worth of drugs. All there. My gun? Still in my backpack with Damon. Shit.

I should probably turn my phone back on.

No, it'll just make me anxious. I need to walk into this meeting like the confident eighteen… correction, seventeen-year old that I am. This life is in my blood, maybe I should just own it.

We travel down a circular drive lined with palm trees decorated with strings of white lights and a vast stretch of greenery. The peach and white hotel has a Spanish cathedral quality to it. The cab driver pulls up in front of the entrance of the hotel. It's massive and lavish and expensive and so Domenico. The asshole had to impress me with architecture- my Achilles heel. He must've seen how many HGTV shows I have saved on my DVR.

I check the rear window to see if Damon was able to catch us and by the looks of it, he didn't. I hand the driver two-hundred dollars and thank him for getting me to the hotel so quickly. A valet opens the door for me and I step out on shaky legs.

I walk through the entrance and observe the arched blue ceilings and stone columns mixed with artfully placed velvet blue and green lounges and potted palm fronds. I stand like an idiot in the middle of the lobby, staring at the antique Tiffany chandeliers when a lean concierge wearing a brown fitted suit and a royal blue tie asks if I need help. Yeah, I need a lot of help but I doubt he'd be able to help with the many issues plaguing Elena Gilbert, or as I found out earlier, Viviana Elena Giovanni. Should I start going by Viv?

I smile politely. "Can you point me in the right direction of the de León Bar?"

"I'll walk you," he replies.

Maybe he doesn't think I'm twenty-one? Am I being paranoid?

Yes, probably.

Maybe.

"That would be lovely," I reply, trying to sound older.

He walks with his hands politely behind his back and explains the history of the hotel, built in the early 1900s. I'm not listening. I'm looking for potential escape routes.

We make it to the entrance of the bar. "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm going to have to ask for identification."

Thanks to Domenico and his surprises today, I now have a real identification cause there's nothing fake about it. It even has my name and picture. Well, it says Viviana Gilbert because Dom thinks he's hilarious. I get the i.d. out of my wallet and hand it to the concierge, he glances at it, then back at me and smiles apologetically. "I apologize, but I had to check."

"Of course."

We bypass the hostess table and he points me to the bar. I thank him before he excuses himself to get back to his desk.

What do people that are twenty-two, as my new driver's license says, drink? Probably beer, but what do fancy people drink? What would Damon tell me to drink? "I'll have a gin and tonic," I tell the bartender. I glance at the bronze name tag pinned to his black vest. Ernesto.

"We have Burleighs, Nolet Reserve, and Gentlemen's Cut," he offers.

I don't know what any of those are.

"Whichever you suggest," I reply.

He nods with a wink and after a few minutes of watching him make my drink. He places a crystal tumbler with a few cubes of ice and a lime wedge on the side. I take a sip and it is freaking unreal. So much better than warm beer served out of red Solo cups and almost as good as whatever Damon makes. "Would you like to start a tab?"

I don't know what that is.

I mean, I know what it is but not in this context.

"No, thank you," I decide to say.

He leaves with a nod, so I look around the bar. Dark wood interior, but continues the theme from outside with the palm fronds and use of deep blues and greens. The alcohol has been flowing for some time, so people in fancy clothing are gathered laughing and flirting. The one thing I notice is that the men are old but the women are younger, not all of them are, but enough to cause me to make the connection. The younger the woman, the higher the heel, the older the fella, I swear to god.

I overhear one wearing a dress similar to mine but in white, talk about being a communications major at the University of Miami. The white fabric contrasts with her tan skin and the metallic heels make the ensemble pop in the cheapest of ways.

I roll my eyes and get back to my drink.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"  
A guy in possibly his mid-forties, wearing pleated khakis and a short-sleeved light blue button-up has decided to sit next to me and flirt. Dear Lord.

He smiles when I turn toward him and God, his teeth are blindingly white. Like little Chicklets. I really hope this isn't the guy I'm supposed to make the drop off to.

"Nope."

Then I turn back to my drink which is almost gone.

"But I know I've seen you somewhere."

"That's quite the quandary. Maybe if you go across the room, like to outdoor seating, it'll come to you. Distance does that," I mutter into my drink.

He doesn't take the hint. "I'm not moving from this spot. I'm the luckiest guy in the place to be sitting next to you. Are you a model?"

I spin toward him again to put him in his place and groan. "Oh, my God…"

"Wait, that's it!" He interrupts, realization dawning on him. I think this guy has had one too many drinks. "I do know you from somewhere. You're on one of the channels in my hotel room. I had to pay extra to watch, but man, it was worth it and now I'm sitting right next to you."

I frown, remembering Moretti's earlier comment about me being a porn star. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I can assure you that it wasn't me and I'm insulted by your implications."

"Okay," he replies with a wink. "Heya, barkeep! Get this sexy lady another drink."

Yeah, he's drunk and crazy. I can't believe they let this guy in a nice such a nice establishment.

An imposing man in an impeccable charcoal grey suit with tan skin and dark black hair places a hand on the asshole's shoulder. "You need to leave," he orders.

Chicklet teeth may be drunk, but he is out of the stool and stumbling to the other end of the bar where security intercepts him and escorts him out of the bar.

The mystery man eloquently sits in the stool next to mine. "May I get you another drink?"

I nod. He doesn't bother asking what I ordered. "Gin and tonic, but with Burleighs," he orders the bartender, who magically appeared when this guy sat down, ignoring the other people waiting. "Glenfidditch, neat for myself."

"Thank you," I say because I feel like I need to say something. This guy commands respect and I am grateful he got rid of Chicklet teeth. If I got rid of him, there would've been a scene with blood.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he says with an outstretched hand. "My name is Marco Reyes and you must be Viviana Giovanni."

I freeze momentarily.

I should've gone back to get my gun the moment I realized I didn't have it in my bag. It's not hard to connect the dots on this one. The person I'm making the exchange with is head of the Reyes cartel. No wonder Domenico had me wear this dress.

He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. "Your beauty has been compared to Helen of Troy, but that comparison does not do you justice."

He's a charmer, this one. I take a sip of the gin and tonic placed before me by the bartender and dammit, the gin Marco picked out is better.

"How was your trip to my beautiful city?"

I don't miss the way he takes ownership of the city. I wonder if he'd say the same thing if he ran the cartel in Orlando. Maybe he does and Snow White is a distributor. "A couple of your men tried to kidnap me, so it could've been better."

"Can you blame me?"  
Arrogant, just like the rest of them. At least he takes ownership of his actions. "So what was the plan? Kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder, the drugs being an added bonus?"

The bar is noisy so I doubt anyone heard us, plus I'm pretty sure Reyes owns the hotel, so I'm not really worried about the volume of my voice.

His dark eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the bar. "Sell you? No, that would not be advantageous to me. You would enjoy the plans I had for you."

"Doubt that."

"You fascinate me," he says. "I was going to send my little brother but the way you evaded my men and knew to move the drugs, cover it up with clothing, and ditch your car impressed me. You think ten steps ahead of your opponent."

"I play chess in my spare time," I joke. I don't but he's making me sound like some genius. I may be top of the senior class, but genius, I am not. I still bombed my college entrance exams.

"So what's your plan, now?"

I bring the tumbler to my lips while he thinks. "We are going to have a nice conversation while we finish our drinks and then you'll follow me."

Don't go to a second location.

Don't go to a second location.

Words that were said in an elementary school assembly repeat in my head.

"Wouldn't it be easier to do the handoff right now? Then we can both be on our way. I'm sure you have a family to go home to."

He takes a sip of his drink. If he drinks this slowly, we'll be here all night. Might not be a bad thing. "I don't have a family or wife to go home to."

Marco's voice caught at the last word. He was going to say "yet". He was going to say, I don't have a family or wife to go home to yet.

Maybe he has a fiancé or a girlfriend that are the 'yet' he's referring to because this is _not _normal. How many people know I'm a Giovanni or Russo? Wait…he called me Viviana as in, Viviana Elena Giovanni. Did Moretti tell him? And if so, why? It seems like it'd go against his plans.

"I heard you are a runner. My compound is located on a long stretch of beach I own. You'd be able to run miles and miles on my property."

I pick up my almost full tumbler, down it then slam the glass on the table. "Gotta use the ladies room," I say, hopping off of the stool.

Marco catches my wrist and leans forward, not because he's worried about being overheard but he wants to make sure I hear every word. "I own this hotel and have men stationed at every exit who know your description, down to the dress I bought you. You don't want to know what will happen if you leave without me."

Dress _he_ bought me? Moretti has some explaining to do.

I tilt my head to the side and analyze his profile. Dark, almost black eyes, full thick hair, stubble around his jaw and he fills out his suit quite well. I bet he wears a Speedo on the beach and nobody around him minds.

I may be a little drunk, but this is a very good looking man and also very dangerous. His eyes darken like he knows what I'm thinking. But he doesn't. He's not a mind reader. "You know, Domenico Moretti also promised me a tour of his compound. Is that like an illegal boss thing? Show me your castle and lock me in while I'm looking around? If so, you need new material."

I release myself from his grip and walk in the direction of the bathrooms with my bag slung over my shoulder. My original plan was to call Damon but with guards surrounding the place, I don't want him to walk into trouble that may get him killed.

I can't call Moretti because he clearly set me up. I just don't know why.

However, I don't think Domenico knew Marco would be the one to do the exchange. Maybe his plan was to have me deal with Marco's little brother. Calling Domenico means admitting failure. I just need a plan to get out. I need insurance.

Then I have it. I know exactly what I need to do.

A few minutes later, after using the restroom, I walk back to Marco.

He stands and takes me by the arm. "We will be able to talk more comfortably in my office."

At least it's not to a hotel room, if it was he'd find out why I like running so much. We walk out of the lobby and down a few hallways. I don't miss the way his hand slides down my bare back. People regard Marco as royalty. I mean, he's the owner and everything but I'm genuinely surprised that the concierge who walked me to the bar didn't get on his knees and bow to Marco.

I start getting worried when we take a private elevator to the top floor. "My office and private residence are on the top floor. There's a garden with a secluded area for us to talk on the roof."

"Perfect place to jump off," I mutter under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," I reply.

"There is no reason to rush this, Viviana. We are going to drink, eat the meal my chef prepared, and then if we feel up to it, make the exchange," he says.

Damon is not going to be happy. I told him that I wouldn't leave him. I promised I wouldn't leave him and here I am, abandoning him. I'll never admit this, but he was right about going tonight. Dammit.

"You know, Miami has great colleges. The mafia isn't known for letting their women go to college, but I'd let you go," he offers like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"How kind of you."

"We have much to discuss, Viviana."

He guides me through a hallway decorated much like the lobby, but the framed collection of pictures add a personal touch I didn't expect. Mostly black and white photos of Reyes ancestors. Plaques beneath the dark wood frames label the pictures. Pictures of the hotel being built and labeled 1921, with Alejandro Reyes standing in the front.

"Are you interested in history?" He asks, obviously seeing me look at the photos.

"Why? Are you going to tell me that there's a great history program at the University of Miami?"

Marco chuckles. "I am not sure about that, but whatever you want to study, I'll make sure it is available to you."

Now we're talking about this in the affirmative. The officer that spoke at my elementary school assembly was right. I should've never let him take me to a second location. Lesson learned, Officer Holliday.

We walk up a staircase and he opens a glass door to an immaculate garden lit up with twinkly white lights that span the entire roof. There's a pool in the middle with a few cabanas and a fire pit with a circular seating area. All this surrounded by greenery. He leads me down a path to a table dimly illuminated by the light from the garden. It's set for two and has champagne chilling in a silver bucket. The moon illuminates the water in the distance. If I wasn't so worried, I'd take a moment to enjoy the view.

"I doubt this is how you treat everyone who makes drug drops for you."

"No, it is not," he agrees, pulling out a chair for me. I sit because I have no choice. "I hate to spoil our evening with routine protocol, but I am going to have to ask for your phone."

Fuck.

I want to lie and say I don't have my phone but he interrupts me, explaining he saw it in my bag. I hand it to him and he looks at it. "Turn it on."

"Why? You have it so you know I'm not able to contact anyone."

"Do not make me ask twice."

I roll my eyes but turn on the phone. I hand him the phone. He glances at it and puts it in his suit jacket.

A waiter comes by and pours us glasses of champagne and I down most of my glass before Marco can make some sort of toast.

"Why the date?"

He doesn't seem bothered by my rudeness and takes a sip out of his glass. "You are Viviana Russo Giovanni, the lost daughter of the Giovanni empire. You have the power to tie organizations together or you could be used to start a war. I have not decided which I prefer."

"Who told you my name?"

Homemade crackers and braided breadsticks arrive with an olive tapenade spread. Marco helps himself to a cracker and smears the olive spread on it, then places it on my plate and makes one for himself. I don't touch it. "Eat and I will tell you."

I take a bite of the cracker and hate that it's so good.

"At five o'clock in the morning, I received a phone call that made me very happy. The girl that everyone thought died, is alive and known as Elena Gilbert, of Mystic Falls. Domenico Moretti was planning on making a drop of a new product in my territory, an arrangement we came to a few days ago. Moretti runs the territory from Mystic Falls to Charleston. He's small potatoes and eager to expand, so eager in fact, I knew he knew about the girl from Mystic Falls that's the daughter of two major families. His obsession with a Mystic Falls expansion has been very advantageous to me. There isn't much that goes on in that town he doesn't know about. It was serendipity, Viviana, because when I offered him something he could not refuse, he told me that you were on the way to make the drop," he explains. "I believe it was a last minute change in plans."

"That explains why he made me leave in the middle of the school day."

"Did he?"

"The principal called me into his office and guess who was sitting behind the principal's desk?"

"Hmmm," he brings the champagne glass to his lips.

"There's something I want to know," I say, ignoring the server delivering a salad. "You said that everyone thought I died. What happened?"

"There are rumors that the Giovanni family were out for blood because of the death of one of their own. The Russo girl was seen hanging around Antonio Giovanni. Two teenagers who fell in love when Isabella visited a friend in upstate New York for the summer and Antonio was at their summer home. Fought more than they got along."

"How do you know all of this?"

"My aunt is a gossip. She said there were rumors that the reason he was out for blood was because his child was murdered. It is a fragmented story that has grown more sensational with time, so I wouldn't take too much of it seriously. But you were spotted with Isabella after your supposed death, which is when the rumors really started to explode."

"Is there like an illegal crime newspaper that circulates between the cartel and the mafia families?"

Marco snaps his fingers. The server promptly returns and moves to take our plates but Marco stops him. "I need a printed map of North and South America."

The server nods and leaves.

"Fast service."

"Money has its perks."

Another server picks up our salad plates and refills out champagne glasses. I've had one glass of Champagne and two gin and tonics, so I stick to water for the time being.

"You have not touched your food."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm not going to hurt you if that's what you're worried about," he promises.

"So we make the exchange and you're just going to let me go?"

"For now."

I don't believe him, but it's better for me if he thinks that I do. The server pours us red wine and serves us steak and a layered potato thing with vegetables. I haven't been paying attention to what the sever's been saying all evening. I get it, this is expensive, five-star cuisine. I care more about getting out of here.

I can tell Marco is really trying. He takes the spoon out of a silver dish and pours a green sauce over my steak. "It's similar to Chimichurri but made with cilantro. It is delicious, my mother's recipe."

I eat a piece of the steak and groan. It's incredible, he's right. "I don't think I realized how hungry I was."

He chuckles. "My mother is an excellent cook but doesn't like anyone touching her kitchen. You can watch and she'll feed you while you watch, but touch her favorite spatula and you'll be eating cold cereal for a week."

I drink some of the wine and feel myself lightening up. "I wouldn't know what that's like."

"I must confess, I don't know a lot about your family other than you are Isabella and Antonio's daughter."

"To be honest, there's a lot that I don't know either. It's exhausting keeping up with all the new information that's thrown at me. I only recently learned about Antonio and Isabella. Every time I catch a break and am able to take a breath, I learn something new."

With a wine glass in hand, Marco regards me with surprise. "You didn't know?"

I lift one shoulder up in a sort of half shrug. "Every family has its secrets."

The server returns while we're eating with the map Marco requested. He circles Florida, southern California, Baja, and most of Central America. "My cartel runs these areas, but in Mexico, along the border of Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, another cartel runs that area. They are an uncivilized pack of rodents searching for their next meal. They lack morals."

"There are morals in the drug trade?"

"Only if you want to survive. That area is constantly being taken over by the third cartel. I let them battle it out. There are major families in South America that have been running cartels for years, we trade with them because they are civilized and have morals."

"Again, cartels have morals?"

"To a degree," he answers. "My family has been here for a century and will be here a century from now. The Torres and Castillo cartel used to be the Ortega and Soto cartels, and so on."

"So why don't you just overrun the area when they're weak?" I ask.

"For now, I am keeping them busy. I have plans, Vivianna. I think ahead."

I ponder that while we finish our meal. I didn't realize there was so much organized crime. I always thought that was just in the movies. Even the Founding Families are an organization, as well-intentioned as they may be. They successfully kept me hidden for years. I need time to look at the documents Domenico sent me.

"What do you want to do with your life?" Startled from my train of thought, I gaze at Marco.  
I can't help but compare him to Damon. Damon knows his way around a car, can build things with his hands, is both the smartest and dumbest person I know, and can knock a guy out in a single punch. He's rougher around the edges but lacks the confidence that comes with age. He's uncertain, knows what he wants to do that day but has no real direction when it comes to the future. I've never heard him talk about what he wants, not what his father wants him to do, but what he wants to do with his life. It would be hypocritical of me to say I know what I want to do, but I'm trying to give myself options. I don't know if Damon has it in him to fight for what he wants. He may tell his dad to fuck off, but in the end, I don't think he wants to disappoint him. I saw his eyes light up when his dad called him a couple of weeks ago- he was that fourteen-year-old kid again, dying for his father's attention.

Marco knows exactly who he is and I have a feeling he's always known it. He's graceful in his movements and refined. He has a swimmer's build, lean with broad shoulders and biceps that bulge every time he moves to take a bite. He's cunning and smart and I have no doubt he runs the cartel with purpose and without getting emotions involved. Which means I am separate from the cartel. I am a curiosity.

I set my fork and knife across the porcelain plate and bring the wine glass to my lips to buy myself time. What do I want? "I don't know," I reply, honestly. "I finished filling out my college applications and I lied on all of them when it came to that question. I had fun coming up with answers; on an application for the University of Virginia, I said I wanted to be an astronaut."

"You would like to go to space? See the moon?"

"Stars are pretty," I laugh with a shrug.

He chuckles. "Maybe you do not want to go to college."

"Maybe I have a feeling I'll never be able to go," I reply. "But applying gives me a future to hope for. A future with options."

An easy grin spreads on his face. "It is too bad that because of who you are, your options are limited."

There's a definite finality in his tone like he's as realistic about my fate as I am. Over a blackberry soufflé with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, which is heavenly, he tells me about Miami and his family. I find myself laughing at a story he tells me about his little brother teaching him how to surf at their family home in Puerto Vallarta. He was so humiliated that his little brother was better, he went out every morning, while everyone was asleep to get better. "I don't stop until I get what I want, and I wanted to be better than him."

I have a feeling his words have a deeper meaning but choose to ignore it. "You want to be the best."

"Yes, Viviana."

I take my spoon and scrape the bottom of the ramekin, trying to get every last morsel. "Are you happy?"

"No."

He says it so quickly and with such conviction, I drop my spoon. "We've been talking for a little over an hour. You own a beautiful hotel, in a city you love. You have homes all over the world. You have an illegal but profitable business. You've only talked about your family with love. I have no doubt women line up to be with you. What more could you want?"

"It is time to make the exchange."

I nod, here we go.

He calls the server back over and asks for his iPad. That's what we're exchanging, drugs for an iPad? Maybe he's just showing me an exchange of money? He presses a button when I hand over the goods?

Instead, he places the iPad in front of me. "You need to see this first."

He presses play. The opening credits read, _Starr Industries presents: Friday Night Delights_. Is this supposed to be some sort of play on Friday Night lights? Before I can ponder that question, the video starts. It's a freeze-frame of me jumping on a bed in nothing but panties. On the frozen shot are the words, Staring New-cummer: Elena Gilbert, covering my bare breasts.

I want to laugh at the play on words but I'm also staring at the screen completely horrified and transfixed. I don't want to remember this and I don't want to watch this and after the opening scene of three conveniently unidentifiable guys, wearing black football helmets comes in while I'm writhing on the bed. It doesn't take a genius to see that I'm out of it. Then music comes on and I remember the beat of that song because it's played in my nightmares. The ones I don't tell Damon about. I immediately push the iPad back to Marco. "I don't need to watch _that_."

"It has been out for almost twenty-four hours and is already the top-selling video."

"How did you know I was Elena Gilbert?"

He gives me a look that plainly says, _are you kidding me with this question_. "Starr Industries is run by a man named Axel Pace."

The number one porn video in the world documents my rape. I put my head in my hands, suddenly feeling sick from all the alcohol and food and oh my god, this was Frederick, Chase, and Noah's big revenge. Goodbye, college. Goodbye, shot at the Olympics.

I run over to one of the large potted frond plants and vomit and continue to vomit the contents of my dinner. My hair is in a ponytail, but Marco comes over and moves it out of the way and rubs my back while I ruin his pretty plant. When I think I've expelled everything, Marco hands me a warm wet cloth to wipe my face makes me drink a bottle of water.

"How could you tell that I didn't know about the video?"

We're sitting on a lounge in the fire pit. "I swear I have not watched the video, but from what I saw, I could tell that you were not a willing participant. I was going to ask who the boys were in the video."

I could tell him who they were but I know what would happen and I may hate Chase, Noah, and Frederick, but I don't want them killed. I wouldn't mind if they were castrated though.

"I don't know," I reply, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. "Why did you show me that?"

"I had to make sure you knew. I want to be honest and upfront with you, especially before we make the exchange."

Honest and upfront, sure but he's talking in circles.

"Let's just do the exchange and I'll be out of your hair."

"You should stay the night in one of my rooms," he offers. "You have had a long day."

I shake my head and hug my tote bag to my stomach. "What would you like me to take to Domenico?"

He sighs, disappointed I'm not taking him up on his offer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet black box and hands it to me. "You are the exchange, Viviana Elena Giovanni. I bought your adopted parents' debt and you are part of a very big deal between myself and Domenico Moretti. He knew the only way to get you to Miami was to have it be part of your arrangement to sell for him. I wanted to spend an evening eating and drinking with you so I'd know if you were what I am looking for. I admit I was upset that Moretti tried to cover up your gunshot wound in an attempt to make you more presentable. It was not needed."

I may throw up in the pot again.

"How…?" I stutter, not knowing where to start.

"My men were the ones that tried to take you and shot at you. I was trying to get to you early so I wouldn't have to make the deal and could just keep you, but you evaded me. You are a smart girl," he says with admiration in his voice.

He is crazy. Freaking crazy.

"I—I'm seventeen," I stutter. "I can't…" I hold up the ring box.

"When you graduate, I will come and get you," he states.

"I'm not something that can be bought or sold," I argue. "I'm a human being…"

"You _are_ a human being who was born into this world. I have already made a deal with Moretti for more territory he was in desperate need of and his drug will flow through the streets of both Miami and Tijuana. With your last name, I will be able to do something no one before me has done and bring together the cartel and the mafia," he explains.

"Isn't your deal with Moretti bringing together the cartel and the mafia?"

"He is small potatoes and even what I gave him is nothing in return for something more powerful and precious than he realizes."

For some reason, I never took Moretti seriously. I think that's why I was able to talk to him as I did. Clearly, he has another agenda and I don't believe this is the last that I'll see of Moretti. He knows too much.

"What about the Russo and Giovanni family? Thanks to that video, I am no longer hidden."

"I am warning you," he clasps his hands around mine covering the black box I haven't dared open. I can't ignore the fact that they are warm and comforting. He's being honest, but knowing Moretti, Moretti would take honesty for naivety. "You do not want to involve the Russo family or the Giovanni family until you have proper protection."

"Why?"

"Your mother, Isabella, knew something after growing up in that world, just as I know things from growing up in my world. You would have been killed to avoid a war between the two families or killed in the middle of a war between the two families. The Russo family and the Giovanni family are both ruthless and smart. One family may take you in and lock you up and marry you to a sadist to gain more power. There are rumors just as we have rumors, but I can promise you protection and I'd try to make you happy. My family would love you and treat you as their own."

"I am nothing more than a pawn to you," I say bitterly. "I'm a pawn to everyone. Moretti thinks he can sell me, you buy me before my blood can sell me off. The woman who I thought was my mother sold information on me. Do you see how unfair this is? You talk of morals and you're just as bad."

"You will not always think that," he mutters. I snort at the ridiculous of it, which he returns with a glare. "Where is my product?"

I reach into my bag and hand it to him.

He feels the weight of the bag. "This is not everything."

"No, it's not."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "Where is the rest?"


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: I'm feeling generous, so I decided to post another chapter tonight. Enjoy :)

Chapter 28

Damon

I spent an hour driving around Miami, searching every hotel until my phone pinged, notifying me of Elena's location. She finally turned her phone on and is going to kill me when she finds out I installed a hidden tracking app on her new phone while she was getting ready for the exchange. When we get home, I'm installing something more permanent. Hell, I'll install a tracking chip somewhere on her while she's sleeping if I have to. I've been driving for over an hour trying to find her and now I know where to go. She's at the Princeton South Beach, but the tracker gives me no more detail. She could be at a restaurant or she could be in a room above that or on a floor above that.

And I'm stuck in traffic. I constantly look at the phone, hoping she'll call me back or at the very least, text me. Nothing.

Close to an hour later, I park the black Lexus I borrowed from Santiago in the employee parking lot behind the hotel. I'm sure I'm going to have to make a quick exit, even if it's with Elena over my shoulder, fireman style. The car is borrowed from Santiago because of the tinted bulletproof windows and only Santiago would have a car with a gun holster under the front seat. Added bonus being no one can track the plates back to me and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be able to track them back to Santiago either.

With my gun secured in the waistband of my jeans, I put on my leather jacket and walk through the back entrance of the hotel with a group of employees that must be part of the night shift. I'm easily able to slip in with them and make my way to the front entrance, keeping my eyes open for a girl in a red dress.

A concierge with his hand behind his back approaches me and casts me a wary glance. "Can I help you, sir?" He asks with a condescendingly polite nod.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet a girl here. She's wearing a red dress and has dark hair pulled back into a ponytail."

A hot as fuck dress. That bag of dicks dressed her and now he has a big ass target on his back.

The concierge relaxes his arms to straighten his brown jacket. "Yes, I showed her the way to the de León bar. Follow me."

The lobby looks like something out of a Miami Vice rerun, and not in a good way. I'm surprised I don't see more patrons in white polyester suit jackets with shoulder pads and fake tans. We reach the entrance of the bar and looking past the front desk, I don't see Elena at the bar. "Did you see her go anywhere else?"

"No, sir. I left after seeing her into the bar."

Something about the way his hand flexes before clasping it with the other behind his back that makes me think he's not being honest. Also, he has one of those faces that you just want to punch, and right now, I really want to punch something. But being carried out by security isn't something I can afford at the moment.

I walk into the bar and order a double of Old Forester. The bartender places my drink on a red napkin in front of me. "Would you like to start a tab?"

I shake my head. "Have you seen a girl, she's about five-seven, has big brown eyes and is wearing a red dress?"

"No, sir." He leaves to wait on another patron.

With my drink in hand, I look around the bar.

I know she was supposed to make the exchange in a bar; it's why I believed the concierge when he said he walked her here. Picking up my glass, I casually walk around the place, including the restaurant, acting like I'm trying to find a friend who's already seated. When I don't see her, I make my way back to the bar.

"Are you looking for that girl the owner is obsessed with?"

A girl that can't be more than twenty-two, wearing a white dress similar to Elena's, sidles up next to me. I quirk an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I heard you earlier talking to the bartender." She tilts her head to the side and gazes at me while fingering the collar of my jacket. "I can give you more information if you want to talk privately."

My hand snaps to her wrist and pushes it out of the way, but I still keep my hand firmly around her wrist so she'll get the message loud and clear. "You will tell me what you know and then go back to the saggy balls money-ticket you left to pathetically try and seduce me."

I squeeze, just barely and she shudders. "Everyone in Miami knows who Marco Reyes is; he's like royalty down here. I noticed him the second he came in. Some jerk was messing with the girl you're looking for and the next thing I know, Marco gets rid of the guy, then she left with Marco."

"Where did they go?"

She rolls her eyes like I'm stupid. "Duh, his penthouse."

I let go of her hand and walk away without so much as a thank you. I leave a hundred for my drink and walk out of the bar, trying to find the elevator to the penthouse. In my dad's hotels, they're usually down a separate hallway apart from the main elevator cars. After walking past the main elevators, I walk down a long hallway that leads to conference rooms and boardrooms when I hear a voice.

"Clever to hide half of it in the de León's bathroom," says a gruff voice with a slight accent. He sounds more entertained than angry.

"Being locked in an ivory tower doesn't appeal to me."

_Elena._

"Noted," he replies. "But you can save me the trip and instead you could join me for a nightcap… if you'll just tell me where Viviana."

"Now where's the fun in that?"

What the ever-loving fuck were they doing in his penthouse? _Viviana?_

The voices come closer. Elena knew she'd need an out, so she hid half the product in the bathroom so they'd have to go back and get it. She must've known he'd take her somewhere else. My baby is resourceful.

But I'm not going to let it get that far.

I swiftly walk back the way I came and taking a leaf out of Elena's playbook, pull the fire alarm located near the main elevators. In the chaos of everyone evacuating, Marco and Elena walk past me. He has his hand clasped around her wrist, but no gun, and she doesn't seem like she's being forced. However, she does a double-take when she passes me and chooses to ignore my attempt to save her ass. Instead, they go into the restaurant. "Dan," he says to a large ex-military type, wearing all black. "What the hell happened?"

Elena stands limply at his side. This isn't like her, something's wrong. She's not trying to leave or escape. Fuck. That.

I stride toward her, yank her out of his grip, and flip her over my shoulder. Bag and all. I don't bother glancing in Marco's direction to see what he's about to do. He can't shoot me with all these people evacuating and I'm too fast. I run with her over my shoulder to the employee parking lot, plop her in the front seat, shut the door and lock her in with the click of a button.

There isn't anyone behind me or coming from the exit. Two security guards walk out of another door and look around the parking lot with their guns at the ready. I duck when they spot me, shots fly through the air. I pull my gun out and looking over the hood of the Lexus, fire. With the silencer on, his partner barely has a moment to register what happened when I shoot again, aiming for the knee.

With both men down, I once again check my surroundings while walking to the driver's side door in a crouch. Five more men come out of the door Elena and I exited. One of them is Marco. I open the driver's side door to use as a shield and crouching behind it, aim right for him. I wait. I want him to see me before I do it.

He glares, daring me to shoot with five of his armed men around him. I glare. I'm ready to pull the trigger when the warmest brown eyes steps before me, blocking my shot. Her eyes are round and worried. "Damon, don't."

I glance at her and back at him and back at her. "Elena," I seethe. "He took you to his penthouse."

"And fed me dinner and we talked, that's it."

"He is going to try to take you away from me, I can feel it."

She takes a tentative step to the side, moving wherever I aim. "He has a family that loves him. Damon, he has a younger brother that worships him."

I lower my weapon and she wraps her arms around my middle. "And he's not going to take me away from you," she murmurs into my shirt.

I hug her back, but when I look back up at Marco, he smirks, winks, and motions for his men to help the guys I shot, while a bodyguard the size of a pro wrestler follows him inside.

I guess he's letting us go.

When she doesn't say anything on our way out of Miami, I start to worry. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

She turns toward the window, looking up at the moon through the glass. "You knew," she shudders.

"Knew what?"

"_IT_," she shouts. "They filmed _it_, the entire thing and sold it. That's why you were so secretive about your phone calls with Cameron." Tears flow down her face. "You knew."

I'm going to lose her.

I can't.

"Elena, I don't know what you're talking about. Filmed what?"

She takes a deep shuttering breath. "Chase, Noah, and Frederick filmed that night and sold it to some porn company."

Her sobs are loud; I've never heard her like this before. Guilt starts to eat away at me. I wasn't able to stop it. It now must have well over twenty million views.

"I'll get it taken down," I promise her. "I'll take care of this."

"It's too late," she sobs. "The families will know."

I have nothing to say. What can I say? I knew and chose not to tell you? I knew and tried to take care of it but failed?

Instead, I listen to her hushed sobs while we drive north.

We drive in silence back to West Palm Beach, where we'll fly out in the morning. Elena doesn't say much, she lays with her head against the window. A few times I think she's asleep, but she's still awake, staring blankly into space. Every time I try to get her attention, she mutters a yes or no reply or just shrugs.

I pull into a Salvatore International Hotel, and because I am a Salvatore, I bypass the front desk and use one of the family suites. Elena slumps against the wall while I get the family skeleton hotel key out of my wallet and opens the door. She doesn't ask why I have a key or why we stopped, she follows me into the room, drops her bag to the floor, and just stands there, helplessly. Her shoulders are slouched and her ponytail is lopsided from the car ride. Messy chestnut tendrils fall in her face, framing her glassy eyes. She bites her lip like she doesn't know what to do.

"I don't have my bag," she mumbles.

I move to stand before her. I run my fingers through the strands around her face, my knuckle grazing her cheek. Even in fuck-me heels, I tower over her. I continue my path to the nape of her neck and take out her ponytail and enjoy the feel of her silky locks through my fingers, combing her hair. I walk around her slowly, admiring the strength of her long legs, her slim waist, the curve of her ass, her elegant neck, her plump lips, wet with tears. I stand behind her, unzip the side of her dress and gradually peel the dress off her body until it pools at her feet. I crouch down to my knees and press my lips to the back of her thigh before carefully taking off her heels. I kneel before this girl, standing before me in lace panties with her long hair covering her pert breasts, praying I don't lose her. She's a gift and I feel her slipping away.

I pick her up and carry her to bed, wrapping the duvet around her and kiss her forehead before turning out the lights.

Elena

I stir awake, having to use the restroom. The bedside clock reads just after four in the morning. I don't know what time we got in, but it couldn't have been more than a few hours ago. The room has a cold, dead feeling about it. I could feel him leave just after he placed the duvet over my body. Sure, he left to get my things from the car but it was more than that. For the first time in a long time, that old loneliness settled in again. Memories of going for long runs during the summer just to go home to the smell of pot and my mom's screams as she screwed someone else washed over me. Miranda, I mean. Not my mom. Never was, I guess.

I go to the bathroom and wash up before climbing back into bed. I sincerely try to get back to sleep but it doesn't come, instead, there's a desire to look through the files my dad left me. Grayson, I mean. My bag is sitting on an armchair in the sitting room. I grab some items of clothing Damon and I picked up yesterday and take a long shower. I keep my ears perked for signs that Damon is here but like a punch to the gut, I think he got another room.

He probably thinks I'm disgusting. He's now probably seen the video and doesn't want anything to do with me. I can't blame him. Honestly.

After showering and blowing dry my hair, I pull on soft olive green leggings and a long white v-neck tee. I braid my dry hair over one shoulder, grab the computer out of my bag and plop down on the loveseat.

I open the file and click on my birth certificate, still unable to get over the date of birth. The story in these documents contradicts what Giuseppe said, but aligns with what Marco said. Marco said rumors were my parents were in love. It's something Shakespearian. Two kids from rival families fall in love one summer in upstate New York. Isabella got pregnant and somehow ended up in Mystic Falls. If Isabella and Antonio fell in love, they can't be that bad. From the stories I've heard, both families are brutal. Isabella feared me living in that world which is why she gave me up. But there has to be more to the story.

I click on another document, similar to my birth certificate but turns out to be the opposite. Death Certificate: Viviana Elena Giovanni, cause of death: multiple traumatic injuries; combined effects of traumatic and thermal injuries.

I look at the date. I was four.

I'm…dead?

When I search the recesses of my brain, I don't remember much before third grade. The year I met Damon Salvatore. I admitted as much to Damon weeks ago when we discovered Miranda and Grayson weren't my biological parents.

I start reading the letters my dad left me. Dom had the decency to put them in order or paid someone to do as much. There are dozens of letters, the first one dating back to the period of time after he was sentenced. The first letters are full of apologies. He's sorry for succumbing to addiction and bringing that into the home. Even the scanned documents show tear stains on writing about guilt over Jeremy's and Stefan's deaths.

Grayson apologizes for not protecting me from Miranda but stresses that he did, at one point, love her until it became volatile and she started cheating on him. He explains that when Jeremy was born, he had a paternity test done. If the baby wasn't his, he was going to take me and leave, but she knew the truth about me and threaten to tell everyone if he didn't stay with her. Jeremy turned out to be his biological son, so he stayed with Miranda for him. When he was sentenced, Miranda wanted to leave town but he said he'd gladly drag her down with him if she didn't at least stay to be my guardian.

I pause reading and rub my eyes, then stand up to make myself a cup of coffee, using the pod coffee maker in the kitchen. She must've found out he died and knew she was off the hook, so that was when she left. Were the Giovanni and Russo families so bad that I was left to be raised by someone who hated everything about me?

When my coffee is ready, I take it to the sitting area where I left my laptop. I start where I left off. His letters aren't just explanations, but he talks about his childhood in Mystic Falls. How sad he was when his parents died, and how that was when he decided to marry Miranda, his high school sweetheart.

Grayson recalled memories of me going to his office, describing how sweet and happy I was. The nurses put me in charge of handing out lollipops. I was just supposed to hand them out to kids but felt bad so I handed them out to everyone. "Everyone needs a little lolly in their life, daddy," He writes, recalling words I spoke.

I wipe away tears that started to trail down my cheeks, wishing I could remember. I click on the next document and it's a picture of a baby being cradled by a girl, no older than myself, with long dark hair, we have the same long, straight hair and same oval face but my eyes, my eyes match the man standing next to her. He's tall and broad with dark eyes, that light up at the bundle in the girl's arms. He looks twenty or so, wearing a Columbia t-shirt and jeans. Underneath the picture are the names, Izzy, Viv, and Tony, and the date matches around the time I was born, in August.

I've never seen a baby picture of myself before. I always thought it was because Miranda hated me, but now I know it's because they didn't have any. The next picture is different. I have to be four in the picture, Miranda stands next to Grayson, looking ready to give birth at any moment. Grayson is holding me, wearing a Columbia Medical School sweatshirt. The background is unmistakably New York City.

The next document is a letter, dated a year ago and the subsequent letters are up until the day he died. He explains a different version from what Giuseppe explained. The Gilberts had a family summer home in the Adirondacks, where he met a couple, young and in love. Miranda preferred to stay in the city, where she had a collection of friends and shopping opportunities while Grayson stayed in upstate to intern for a family practitioner. He'd go back to the city on the weekends or when he could.

It was then that he met a young Isabella Russo. Grayson had heard of the Russo family and Giovanni family, but being bound by the Hippocratic oath, he felt committed to helping the couple.

Isabella was just sixteen when she was pregnant with me. For every appointment, her boyfriend, Antonio Giovanni was there to hold her hand. They got excited over every sonogram and were thrilled when they found out they were having a girl.

Once Antonio trusted Grayson, he paid extra for him to make home visits. Grayson was blindfolded and driven to every appointment. Only Antonio knew the location and he had private security covering the property.

Grayson explains that he didn't mind because he learned more and more about the family and their unique situation. Isabella was supposed to stay a virgin until she was married, and she was meant to marry Domenico Moretti. However, while on summer vacation with a cousin, she met and fell in love with Antonio. When she found out she was pregnant in the middle of her Junior year of high school, she contacted Antonio who immediately took her back to where their love began to protect her.

Grayson delivered me, and Isabella and Antonio stayed in his cabin until they could figure out what to do next. Antonio went back and forth between the Adirondacks and New York City for school and to keep up pretenses. His family knew nothing about me because Antonio knew what may happen if the Russos and the Giovannis found out I was alive, they'd kill me.

"Yes, a child," Grayson wrote. "Antonio was sure if anyone found out he fell in love with a rival family, the product of that love would be a threat."

Antonio grew paranoid and refused to let Isabella leave the cabin. Even though the cabin was more like a log-wood mansion on a massive estate, she was cut off from society. She worried about her own family and knew that even though she'd been gone for years, they'd still be looking for her.

Grief-stricken over the death of his wife, Lily, Giuseppe was in New York visiting his friend, Grayson when everything went to crap. After more than three years of being tucked away in the cabin, Isabella decided to go shopping in town with me on her hip. Isabella was charming and was able to convince one of her security to sneak her out.

While shopping, she saw Grayson with Giuseppe at lunch and decided to ask them if she and Viviana could join. Over time, Grayson was the only contact she had and became her confidant and close friend. That's where she met Giuseppe for the first time. Grayson writes that she loved Antonio, but had a connection with Giuseppe. Grayson comments that for the first time since his wife died, Giuseppe came to life.

Antonio was spending more and more time in the city after having graduated college. Giuseppe decided to stay in the Adirondacks while their nanny, Luciana, stayed with Stefan and Damon in Mystic Falls. Giuseppe and Isabella became close friends and because of his connections, was able to get her out of the cabin more often.

One evening, Giuseppe took Isabella out to dinner, leaving Viviana to be watched by one of the security guards. In the city, Antonio received word that Isabella was going to dinner at Sage and Olive with a man. They, later on, found out that it was a waitress who had a crush on Antonio who informed him.

After dinner, while they were walking around lit-up downtown, Antonio confronted Giuseppe and Isabella. The fight was captured on camera and sent to the tabloids and that's when the rumors really started about Antonio and Isabella. The Russo's now knew where Isabella was hiding and only Isabella truly understood what that meant. Antonio shrugged it off and kept her at the cabin, locked away and safe. Within days, Isabella started making plans.

No one knew of the child except Antonio. If he knew the Russo's were coming, Antonio would take me and make me live with his family, who'd marry me off at a young age. I would grow up as she had. If the Russo's got me, they'd kill me to get rid of Isabella's mistake so they could marry off Isabella. Isabella was still young and vibrant, she knew they'd force her to marry a family to form an alliance.

Grayson writes that he and Giuseppe had talked about the family council. Isabella didn't like the idea of getting involved with another organization, but they promised it was safe. The Founding Families were committed to preserving Mystic Falls. They organized functions and helped each other when needed. They had connections, though not as many as the mafia, but they could hide me. They offered to hide Isabella too, but she knew in order to save her daughter, she had to leave me and distract her family from my existence.

One morning, Isabella snuck off with me in her car seat. She made sure the right traffic light got a picture of her running a red light. She drove through town and ran an errand with Viviana. On her way back to the cabin, she pulled over just before a dangerous, blind curve going downhill. She swiftly handed Viviana to Grayson, who drove away with Giuseppe in the driver's seat. Then she flipped a switch, drove, and jumped out of the car just before it blew up falling down the mountainside. She was found later by search and rescue, and when she woke up, her parents were by her bedside, disappointed.

The council used connections in the city to forge my death certificate. They planted a bomb in the car and made sure the evidence led back to Domenico Moretti, the man Isabella was supposed to marry. There was definitely motive there and there was hope the Russo's would no longer wish to tie the two organizations together through her marriage.

Both the Russo family and the Giovanni family went after the Moretti family. They killed the entire organization, leaving Moretti standing alone on his family's ashes as a reminder of who he crossed. Grayson took me in, called me by my middle name, and gave me his last. Elena Gilbert. Miranda, pregnant with Stefan, was forced to leave her friends and go to Mystic Falls where she had to lie and say I was her daughter and she had me in New York.

After Grayson left the Adirondacks and started his own practice, everything seemed to be going well. He lied about my age, making me older than my four years so it was easier to hide me; I was tall for my age. In the letters, he wrote, "You were in the 99th percentile for your height and age, it wasn't hard to make people believe you were eighteen months older than you actually are. Remember how I read you, Harry Potter? You were always my special child, the one who survives."

Because Miranda hated me, he took me to work with him and homeschooled me. The nurses would watch me while he was with patients. No one thought twice about it because Miranda was busy with baby Jeremy. At the time, everyone admired Grayson for stepping up and helping out. They enrolled me in school after I started asking about the boy with sad eyes, Giuseppe's kid. Grayson admitted that he purposefully made me the same age as Giuseppe's kid because he knew I'd always have a friend that's part of a family that knows my secret.

When Domenico Moretti found out the truth and became determined to destroy Grayson's life. It took years for him to build back up the business, but when he did, he wanted nothing more than to destroy the people responsible for the destruction and death of his family. Domenico forced Grayson to take drugs. He forced him to sell his drugs to influential people in Mystic Falls, thereby ruining his reputation. The threat always remained, Domenico, who uncovered the truth, would tell the world who I was.

In the final letter, Grayson warns me that they're closing in and he fears for his life. He was supposed to get parol but was forced to switch lawyers. "Moretti is always pulling the strings. I hope these letters get to you so I can warn you what you're up against. Find John. Remember what he taught you? He was always twelve steps ahead. There is a way to find him, it's right in front of your face. My brother likes to hide in plain sight. I am sorry you did not get the life that you deserve, but you can make a new one. You can create your own path. I love you, my daughter, my pride and joy."

I feel myself crumble from the inside out. My dad really did love me. He made me pancakes and took the time to teach me how to read, in his office, apparently. He delivered me and then paid for it.

"What's wrong?"

Damon stands at the doorway with coffee and a white bag. There's something off about him because, for the first time in my life, Damon looks at me warily— like he's not confident in how he should react.

"I was going through the files Domenico left me."

"Your dad's letters."

I nod, tears still streaming down my face while he just stands there. I want to shake him, wake him up from whatever is going on in his head. "There are other documents on there too. I haven't gone through them all."

He walks over and places the coffee and paper bag on the coffee table. "I got you coffee and breakfast."

Damon walks away, back to the door. "Where were you last night?" I ask.

He stops and turns, regarding me with the same wary sad eyes. "The plane leaves soon, I'll be back to pick you up in an hour."

Then he leaves. It's clear he can't look at me the same way as he once did.

I ignore the breakfast before me and lean against the couch, so caught off guard and distracted by Damon's behavior that for a brief moment, I don't think about my dad's letters. Maybe when Damon saw me, knowing I read my dad's letters, he wanted to leave me alone to digest. Knowing him, he'll probably steal my computer on the plane and go through the files himself.

I pull the computer back on my lap and reread the letters. There's one thing I know for sure, Domenico wanted me to read these letters and find out what happened to his family because of the effort others went to in order to protect me. But I also think it's suspect he'd sell me off to Marco. It's a little too similar to what Isabella went through. I need to talk to Giuseppe.

I reread the letters dad sent me. According to my dad, John taught me everything from picking locks to pickpocketing to hot-wiring a car because he knew one day, I'd need those skills. He wasn't wrong. Dad said that finding John is right in front of my face.

That's when I notice something. On the last ten scanned letters, two letters are bolded, like they'd been traced over several times. It just happens once per page and if you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't notice. It's always two letters that are right next to each other. I grab a pad from the desk and a hotel pen and start writing down the letters in chronological order.

(fo) (th) (si) (fi) (fi) (fi) (tw) (on) (se) (ei)

I stare at the letters and think. There are ten sets of letters. The bolded words aren't found in any of the previous letters my dad wrote. If it's a way to contact Uncle John, then it'll be a phone number. Ten sets, ten digits. That means… fo must stand for four. I follow the same pattern for the rest of the letters. (436) 555-2178

I rip off the number on the hotel pad and fold it in quarters before hiding it in my backpack. I need a break from all of this, so I put my computer back in my backpack and turn on the television.

Deciding on the news, because I want to see if there's anything about what happened in Miami, I sit back and watch. The anchor goes on about local news. A fire at a restaurant. A local, corrupt politician being caught with a woman that's not his wife. Then a picture flashes that catches me off guard. "In national news, Noah Scott, a promising high school football player awaiting trial, for alleged drug trafficking and sexual assault, in Falls County Jail was found dead in his cell Wednesday. A Falls County jail spokesperson said he died of asphyxiation from hanging. After an interview with his cellmate and due to overwhelming evidence, the death has been ruled a suicide."

Noah killed himself yesterday? Noah's dead?

"Did you hear?" Damon stands in the doorway, his bag in hand.

"Noah's dead," I state, the words taste funny coming out of my mouth. I still can't believe it. "I didn't want him do die. Just pay for what he did."

His crystal blue irises darken. "I did."

"Well, he beat you to it then," I reply bitterly, standing to get my bags.

"Do you really think he did it?"

"What do you mean?"

He gives me a look.

"You think Moretti had him killed?"  
He slightly shakes his head. "Marco. Reyes," he seethes through gritted teeth.

I can't help but roll my eyes. So dramatic, this one. "The news said he died yesterday, as in during the day. I just met Marco last night. What motivation could he possibly have to kill Noah Scott?"

His right hand squeezes the bag he's holding, making his veins more pronounced. He licks his lips before slowly gliding his eyes over me. "There's something I need to tell you."

"So now you want to talk? How 'bout we start with you telling me where you've been?"

"Get your things; We'll talk on the plane."

I sit right back down on the couch and fold my arms. "I'll find my own way back, thanks."

"Elena, stop acting like a child and get your shit so we can leave this fucking state."

"What are you going to do? Fuck me into submission?" I ask, crossing my legs and sitting casually back against the cushions. "I'll have you know, I recently found out I'm seventeen. That makes you a cradle robber. Kidnapping and taking me over state lines is a felony."

Something funny happens to Damon's face. He drops his bag and just stares at me. "You're seventeen?"

"Yeah, my birth certificate is in the documents Grayson left me."

I refrain from telling him about my premature death because he's obviously still processing the news. What I don't expect for him to do is to take out his phone and excuse himself to the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Jokes on him, I tiptoe and listen to the conversation on the other side of the door.

"Cameron, she was seventeen when they filmed the video. Can you get them to take it down?"

"I don't know if she has a birth certificate."

"The original?"

"Yeah, I don't want to ask. Is there any other way?"

"No, she doesn't know."

He knew about the video? Moreover, he knew and he purposefully kept it from me? His lawyer buddy knows and I didn't? Instead, I had to find out about if from some stranger.

I burst through the door, seething with unrestrained anger. Damon takes one look at me and doesn't get a chance to end his phone call because I grab it out of his hand and toss it across the room. "You knew?" I scream. "You knew there was a video of me from that night and you didn't tell me?"

Damon actually looks a little frightened. He tries to place placating hands on the tops of my shoulders, but I shove them off. I'm angry Noah died and I never got justice for what he did. Death is not justice, justice would've been for him to go to trial and then rot and then die. I'm angry that Damon is acting so distant and I'm angry that a video from that horrific night is out there and there are people profiting off of my rape.

"I was going to tell you."

"Really?" I laugh, it's maniacal and crazed. "You demand I tell you things and yet you think I don't deserve the same thing? You lied to my face, Damon. Last night, you effing lied."

This is crazy, I'm leaving. I run through the hotel and grab my few remaining items shoving them in my backpack.

Damon chases after me, following me while I pick up my items. "Fine, just leave. That's what you're good at. Leave when you're too afraid to ask for help and then I have to use all my resources to find you and bail you out of trouble."

I spin around. "Fuck. You."

"Santiago and Malohi were at Mystic Falls High School. Their job is to watch you and you could've contacted them the moment you saw Moretti in Principal Hale's office. They would've gotten you out of there in seconds. But you left and you didn't even try to contact me," he argues. "And don't you dare say that you left me a message because that was a shit thing to do, Elena. This is your M.O., you do everything on your own. You don't accept help because you're afraid to rely on someone else."

"You don't get to do that," I shout, pointing my index finger at him with my other hand on my hip. "You kept this from me. Your lawyer boy Cameron knew about it and you purposefully kept me in the dark. My guess is that you've known about this for a while."

He runs his fingers through his hair, which is his tell. He did know about this for a while. "I was going to tell you."

"Yeah, well, Marco showed me last night after dessert and then I vomited dinner into a plant."

"Marco?" He seethes his fight back. "Enjoyed dessert with Marco, did you?"

"That's what you got from what I said?"

"They all want you, Elena. Don't you see that? They want you for your bloodline, for your name, and what that could mean for them. Domenico Moretti and Marco Reyes see you as someone they can use. You are a toy that they will use and then discard the moment something better comes along." His voice is so unlike his own, it's cruel and cold. This isn't my prince of darkness, this is someone else entirely. "And you're too naive to see it."

"Is that all you think I could be to anyone? Do you think you're any better?"

It was like I slapped him but it's like a switch flipped and his gaze narrows. "You like it. You like the attention you like the distraction because it prevents you from trying to decide what to do with your own life. All you had to do, Elena was listen to me. Stay in the pool house and message Santi or Mal if you're in trouble because God knows you won't contact me. You have options for college. You have an Olympic coach that wants to train you and you _are_ going to throw it away because this life intrigues you. Reyes intrigues you, I saw it last night and I hear it in your voice when you talk to Moretti on the phone."

"Is that what you think?"

The unmistakable jerk of his chin is all I needed. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and grab the tote bag that fell to the floor as I was rushing around. I go to pick it up when the black velvet box Marco gave me comes tumbling out.

"What is that?" Damon roars and beating me to it, grabs the box. He opens it and shows it to me. Inside is an emerald cut diamond the size of an ice skating rink, flanked by two slightly smaller diamonds. An engagement ring. I knew what it was but hadn't bothered to look at it. "Do you want to tell me about this?"

I snatch the box from his hands and put it back in the purse. "You have your secrets, I have mine."

I practically run to the door, trying to get away from him. Sure they want me, but he isn't fighting. I pause before I get to the door and turn to look at him through the open bedroom door. He's sitting on the edge of the bed with a vacant look on his face. I can't tell if he's angry or apathetic or just tired. One thing he's not doing is coming after me. He tracked me down to Florida and followed me until I pulled over at a gas station and now I seemed to have hit his limit. I close the door behind me and try to think of the best way to get back to Mystic Falls without a phone.


	29. Chapter 29

Author's note: Before I start posting the final chapters of part 1, I'd like to add that Damon and Elena are teenagers. When I started my fic, it was never my intention to write a fluffy love story between two high school kids. I wanted to be as realistic about their age as I could. Obviously, I took creative liberties where the plot is concerned and in my head, Damon very much looks like season two Damon, not an eighteen-year-old kid. Elena is still clever and compassionate Elena from the show, mixed with no humanity Elena because of the things she's gone through. This being said...their journey is far from over.

Chapter 29

Elena

I'm not staying in the hotel for another hour in the hope that Damon will apologize. Nope. I am not. I'm walking to the hotel restaurant so I can eat breakfast and use the wifi to buy a plane ticket. Not because I'm hoping Damon will come to his senses.

There's a fifteen minute wait, so I put my name in and sit on one of the chairs set up outside of where the hostess stands taking reservations while seating customers.

I can't help but look at the elevators I came down on every few seconds. Is he just going to stay up there? There's probably a celebrity exit he took in the back, this is his dad's hotel after all. The moment in the hotel is so reminiscent of the moment he returned from rehab when we were fifteen…well, I guess when he was fifteen. I must've been fourteen at the time. Jeremy had just died and Damon came home from rehab. I tried to approach him at the mansion, but he wouldn't answer. The next day at school, I was waiting by his locker. Before everything happened, it wasn't unusual for me to be at his locker or meet him at lunch, but he looked at me like I was scum. I tried apologizing, tried explaining what happened but he cut me off. He wouldn't even hear it. Just as people were getting ready for homeroom, he called me trash and said that if he knew I was the daughter of drug traffickers, he never would've befriended me in the third grade. Then he slammed his locker shut and it was open season on Elena Gilbert. That's when it started, the moment he shut me out and he's doing it again.

The hostess calls my name and I follow her into the crowded restaurant, full of customers eating and talking over breakfast. I don't miss the stares I get from patrons as the hostess shows me to a table next to a window facing the street. She hands me a menu and tells me my server will be with me. I don't bother looking at it, but get out my computer and start searching for flights out of West Palm Beach.

"Elena Gilbert?"

I look up and a guy wearing a tight black shirt and bike shorts. A messenger bag is slung across his shoulder and he's wearing a bike helmet.

"Yeah?"

He reaches into his messenger bag and hands me a manilla envelope. I sign his clipboard and he leaves. Before I can open the envelope, a server comes by and takes my order. Just a bowl of fruit and coffee. I don't miss the stare he gives me like he's seen me naked. "Can I say," he says conspiratorially. "I am a huge fan."

I respond in the only way I knew how. "Fan of what?"

He looks as though he doubts himself for a moment. He can't say where he knows me because we're in a restaurant that caters to guests at the hotel, including families. "I'll be back with your coffee."

"Good answer," I reply.

When he's gone, I open the envelope and dump the contents on the table. My phone. I turn it on and there's a message.

_Marco Reyes: Wedged between pipes underneath the sink. Very clever._

I can't help but chuckle. At the bar, when I excused myself to go to the bathroom, I made sure no one was in the bathroom before hiding half of the drugs. I knew if he took me upstairs, I'd be stuck but forcing him to go back to the bar so I could show him where the drugs were put me back on the first floor and gave me an out. It worked, sort of. The fire alarm went off before I could show him where the rest of the drugs were.

_Me: Thanks for returning my phone._

His response is almost immediate.

_Marco Reyes: You left before I could say goodbye._

I flip the phone over, unsure of how to respond. I close my eyes and heave a big sigh. I need to make a list of things to do. Talk to Giuseppe. Talk to Domenico. Yell at Domenico. Do a week's worth of homework. Celebrate Thanksgiving…alone.

The server returns with a bowl of mixed berries and a French press with a porcelain mug, cream, and sugar. When he leaves, I pick at the berries while searching for flights. A notification sound goes off on my phone. I flip it over. It's another text message from Marco.

_Marco Reyes: I look forward to your eighteenth birthday, Viviana._

How much did Domenico tell him?

_Me: It is hopeful that you think I'll make it to my eighteenth birthday._

His answer is almost immediate.

_Marco Reyes: I will make sure of it._

_Me: What's that supposed to mean?_

Three dots…

_Marco Reyes: I always protect my investments._

"You're cheeks are all flushed." A man wearing a football jersey and cargo shorts that are way too long for his frame approaches my table.

His hands fidget and his pale skin turns red at my simple observation. The light bounces off his large forehead and makes his red hair seem even more vibrant. "Can I help you?"

He slides a DVD in front of me. The cover has a picture of me jumping on the cabin bed with my hand strategically blocking a view of my breasts. _Starr Industries Presents: Friday Night Delights. Staring Elena Gilbert_

Great.

Effing great.  
"Can you sign this?" He asks. "I'm a big fan. When are you coming out with your next video?"

I don't bother touching the DVD case, cause gross. I didn't even know they made DVD's anymore. "You have ten seconds to remove this case from my sight before I tell your…" I gaze at the wedding ring on his finger and see a woman impatiently waiting at a table alone, staring at us. "Wife over there what you like to do in your spare time."

"Oh, she knows. We watch it together. Last night, I put on my high school football helmet and we reenacted it," he offers, like I'm supposed to be flattered.

I look around the restaurant. People are looking at us and listening in. It is beyond humiliating and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say to get him to go away. "Please leave," I whisper. "That's not me, please leave."

Not liking my curt tone, he takes the DVD case back. "Fine, be that way."

Instead of buying a plane ticket like I'm supposed to, I look up Axel Pace and Starr Industries. My phone pings and I look at it out of habit. My first thought is one of disappointment. It's not from Damon.

_Marco Reyes: Do you want me to get rid of that guy?_

My eyes glance around the restaurant. I don't see anyone watching.

I quickly text a reply.

_Me: Took care of it._

I'm tempted to ask him to get rid of the video but asking him for help means I owe him something in return. Something nags at me, a thought that won't get out of my head.

_Me: Surprised you'd want me after that video._

There, I said it.

The cell rings almost immediately after I sent the text. I don't miss the ringtone he must've put on. Will Smith's _Miami_. I roll my eyes. "Miami is nice, I already admitted that last night," I say into the phone by way of greeting.

I hear his deep, husky chuckle at the other end. "You are proving my point without me even speaking. I enjoyed our conversation last night and I look forward to many more. You are not the girl in that video. All that video is, is documentation of abuse."

"You claim to be all-powerful, so can you get it taken down?"

I hear a heavy sigh at the other end of the phone. "Sadly, I cannot. However, the person who is responsible will pay greatly."

His words startle me.

"Did you kill Noah Scott?"

"Who?"

His genuine curiosity takes away my doubt. Last night, he wanted to know who was involved in the video and I wouldn't tell him because I was actually worried about Noah, Chase, and Frederick. I want them to pay, but I don't want them dead, as I said earlier to Damon.

"Never mind."

"I called because I want you to know something," he pauses, letting his words sink in. "My organization is bigger than both the Giovanni and Russo organizations combined. This is because they waste time and resources battling wars between family organizations. I made an exception because I felt a connection with you last night. You are under my protection and soon, everyone will know it."

It's like everything is on mute except for his voice. His sure, confident voice.

"You protected me last night," he adds. "I will not forget it."

He's talking about the moment Damon was going to kill him. What he, nor Damon, seem to understand is that if Damon shot at Marco with five of his men surrounding him, Damon would've died and I would've been taken. If Marco shot at Damon, Damon would've died and I would've been taken. The only thing for me to do was to put myself between the line of fire. Is this how Damon saw what was going on?

"You don't own me," I mutter into the phone.

"Four powerful organizations are proving otherwise."

He's right. Of all the options, he's the best and he knows it. "And Damon Salvatore?"

"He's free to live his life as long as he doesn't interfere."

Twenty-four hours ago, I would've said that was impossible, but right now I think he'll gladly leave me alone. "What happens next?"

"Things have changed. When you are done eating breakfast, I have a driver out front who will take you back to Mystic Falls. I have an apartment ready for you, a driver, and security detail. Run any major decisions by me and we'll talk about it," he offers. There's a pause, then he adds. "Damon Salvatore no longer has anything to do with your life. If you want to protect him, you need to keep your distance from him."

"Shouldn't be a problem," I say, honestly.

There's a long pause as if he's debating what to say next. Then, in a rush of words. "You are beautiful, Viviana. You are clever, strong, resilient, and compassionate. It is an honor to take care of you."

I push the uneaten fruit away from me and swallow. "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Make such remarks with sincerity."

"The Reyes men have never been afraid to speak from the heart. My grandmother taught me _El que no arriesga, no gana. _If you don't take risks, you cannot win. You, Viviana, are worth the risk."

I bite my lip, not knowing what to say. Instead, I hang up. This is the first time an option has presented itself that makes sure everyone is safe. Domenico was more domineering and abrasive. What with breaking into my apartment and manipulating himself into my family's life. Reyes wants me to go to school and has a family that he loves. It is peculiar that he can't get rid of the video. I look back at my computer to see the results of my search. I click on a link for the company page.

I don't see anything except that Axel Pace is a greasy douchebag. Then something catches my eye. Under the search images tab, I see a picture of who I've come to know is Axel Pace, standing next to…

Oh, Jesus.

Domenico Moretti.

I don't even hesitate. I don't care that I'm in the middle of a restaurant, surrounded by people getting ready to start their day. I call Domenico. He picks up after the first ring. "My dear, Elena."

"Don't."

"Do not what?"

"You know."

"Obviously, not."

"Am I supposed to wear the big ass diamond ring or deliver it to you?"

Pause.

"Oh, that."

"Are you proud of yourself?

"Quite."

"You arranged my marriage, just like Isabella was promised to you. You were blamed for my death and because of that, your family and business were slaughtered. You read the letters. I was a child when all of this happened. So why am I reaping the consequences?"

"Because the Giovanni family needs to pay, and killing you isn't enough."

"So you're using me to humiliate them," I conclude. "Selling me off to the cartels, when you know the mafia and cartels don't get along. Selling my sex tape to your friend at Starr Industries. Ruining the Gilbert family reputation and then killing my father. Making me deal with a new drug for you. Infiltrating my high school and getting my principal on board with whatever you have planned. Where does it end, Dom?"

"Your very existence ruined my life," he says, not angry but like it's a fact. "They killed my twelve-year-old little sister because they thought I killed you. My family. My businesses were all destroyed."

"I was a kid. I had nothing to do with that."

"And yet, you had everything to do with it."

"So now, what? I exchanged your drugs for the ring. I was successful in what you asked of me."

"You did, but our journey is not over."

What does he mean by that? I am so sick of these evasive undertones.

"I want the original documents, not just the scanned copies."

"You will have to earn them, so I will contact you shortly on what you need to do."

"You know what I've been through, why are you doing this to me?" My question is one of desperation. "Selling my rape is low, even for you."

"What do you think they did to my sister before they killed her?"  
A foreign gasp emits from my throat. I have no words.

"This is who your family is, Viviana Elena Giovanni. They have no morals, so in order to avenge my family, I must have none either. I did not want to marry Isabella either, but I would have for my family and I would have treated her well. The moment I started building capital, I came to Mystic Falls and set my plan in motion. Your father does a good job of detailing my plans in his letters. I must admit, I enjoyed you. You are unlike your adopted parents. We will see each other again, Viviana Giovanni."

"How did you know about the video?" I ask before he can hang up.

"I did not," he replies honestly. "I just took advantage of an opportunity."

"Axel Pace is a friend; he told you," I conclude. "I'm underage in the video, you know that."

"But in order to fight that, you have to disclose your real name and age— which would lead to questions because you _are_ technically dead and I happen to hold the documents that prove you were ever alive."

Dammit.

"When I read about what happened to your family, my heart broke," I pause, making sure what I'm saying sinks in. I mean every word. "I don't remember my mom, my real mom and I don't remember my biological father. However, every day I wake up, I live with the consequences of their actions and subsequently, my adoptive parent's actions. You and I have a lot in common, Domenico. The difference is, I am trying to let go and move on and you continually pull me back. You've watched me, you know what I've dealt with and you watched the worst of it and bought it to sell to the masses. But I can forgive you. I can let it go and move on. Can you?"

I'm shocked when he doesn't hang up right away. "Until we meet again, Miss Gilbert."

He hangs up, but in that brief pause, so much was said.

I close the laptop and put it back in my backpack and take out cash to place in the billfold. I take a swift glance at the restaurant before slinging my backpack over my shoulder and hold my tote bag in the other hand.

Damon didn't show. We usually fight, blow up at each other but one of us usually comes around. I guess I'm in denial about this fight being different from the others.

An older gentleman in a black suit, wearing dark sunglasses walks into the restaurant. When I say older gentleman, I don't mean frail and wheezy. This guy is older and carries himself as a gentleman would but one look at him would tell anyone not to mess with him. He stands with perfect posture like he both owns the place and could protect the establishment from an incoming zombie invasion. He has silver hair that's parted in a style reminiscent of another time. A time when people dressed up for plane rides and smoking was as common as drinking coffee. His attention zeros in on me and he makes his way toward me in perfectly even strides. "Ms. Giovanni, my name is Raymond Winters. I am here to escort you to Mystic Falls," he says, taking my tote bag and backpack off my shoulder.

"Who sent you?"

"Your betrothed, of course." His voice is clear and confident and he's so quick that I'm forced to follow him.

And…I mean this with absolute sincerity, I cannot help what comes out of my mouth next. "Which one?"

His lip twitches, very very slightly. "Marco Reyes."

Considering I have almost zero dollars in my bank account and the only way for me to add more would be to go to the bank and deposit the heaping amount of cash in my backpack, I follow Winters.

We leave the restaurant amid curious stares, but it doesn't bother Raymond. Might I add, he has yet to take off his sunglasses. I'm willing to bet he has a glass eye. If Damon were here, we'd make it an actual bet that would involve fun consequences.

"Mr. Winters?" I ask, trying to catch up with him. _Man, he walks fast._

He stops so abruptly, I almost run into him. "Yes?"

"I need to ask the front desk a question, and then we can be on our way."

He stands like a soldier near the doors, with his arms crossed behind his back while holding my items. I'll take that as an okay.

I walk up to a woman at the front desk who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. She regards me severely with one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

I get it. I probably look like a stressed-out mess. Salvatore Hotels are the types of hotels that you dress up to be in. I look down at my checked Vans self-consciously before gazing back at her. "Yes, I was wondering if Damon Salvatore has checked out."

"And you are?" She asks in a bored voice.

Does she realize she asked a very sensitive, yet poignant question? I don't know who I am. I don't know who I am to Damon. I decide to go with the truth.

"I was staying in the Salvatore penthouse."

Her eyes narrow. I reach into my pocket and fumble with like four IDs, I kid you not. When I find my actual one, I hand it to her. "I'm Elena Gilbert, you can check."

And she does. When she sees that I was in fact one of his guests, her attitude changes quite a bit. "I'm sorry about that, Miss Gilbert. Mr. Salvatore checked out of his room an hour ago when the helicopter arrived to take him to the airport."

Sometimes I forget that he's a billionaire because he usually doesn't like to use his dad's connections, no matter how much I make fun of him for it.

"Thanks," I reply, before doing the walk of shame back to Raymond. He left me here, not knowing how I'd get back. Message received, Damon. He lied about the video. He left me alone last night and for most of this morning and when I see him, he gives me the cold shoulder. We argue and I leave and he lets me go.

By the time I make it back to Raymond, he guides me to a limo. I poke my head inside before getting in. No one else is there, but it's large and comfortable. "We're taking this to the airport?"

"I'm driving you back to Mystic Falls, Miss Giovanni. Mr. Reyes said that you needed time to finish your homework."

The duffle bag Dom had with all my work in it is currently with the shot-up Rav4. "I don't have…"

"Everything you need is in the car. Please let me know if you need anything else," he explains.

I thank him before entering the limo. He hands me my tote bag and backpack before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side. The limo is comfortable and complete with bottled water and beverages in the fridge and snacks in a cabinet beside the mini-fridge. There's a flatscreen television with Netflix and various streaming accounts available. There's also a place for me to sleep and a pull-out desk for me to work at. I don't want to admit it, but this is incredibly thoughtful. If Marco simply flew me back, I wouldn't have gotten my work done, and with a twelve-hour drive ahead of us, I'll be able to get most of it done and deal with the numerous emails I have in my school account.

I sit in the comfortable leather couch and layout all my items, deciding to start on math first. It feels good to be doing school work, primarily because I'm distracted from the fact that none of this will matter in the long run.

Damon

"Santiago, I need you to go to the liquor store on Main and get more Pappy Van Winkles," I order, my speech only slightly slurred.

"Mr. Salvatore, don't you think you should stop for today? Sleep it off?"  
"I won't be able to sleep," I scoff, laying sideways on the couch in the boarding house living room. "I wasn't last night and I won't be able to tonight."

"Have you seen the news?"

"No, why?" My feet drop to the floor and I sit upright.

Santiago takes the television remote from a side table and turns on the television. "Local high school football player, Chase Worthington, pronounced dead after being involved in a tragic car accident."

I rub my face with the palms of my hands. I'm either really drunk or… "Chase is dead?"

"Fluke car accident," Santiago replies, meaningfully. "His brakes weren't working properly."

"That's definitely interesting," I mutter, thinking. After what Chase did to Elena, I won't miss him but the event does give me pause. "Where is she?"

"Northern Florida," Santiago replies. "Mal said she only left the limo a couple of times to use the restroom. Do you want us to pick her up?"

"No," I mutter. "No one else is in the limo with her?"

"Just her and the driver, who is a former Navy Seals operative, who later on did work for the C.I.A."

"What do you know about the guy?"

"I worked for him," Santiago explains. "He was my commanding officer. He's a good guy, his wife had health problems, which is why I'm sure he started working for the private sector."

At least she's safe.

"Get me the bourbon," I order. "My wallet is on the dresser."

Santiago gives me a look that I don't like. It's both condescending and knowing. He gives a slight jerk of his chin and leaves me alone among empty bottles of liquor laying on the floor.

Elena was at the hotel restaurant, eating breakfast. I watched her get on her computer and I watched her talk to _him_. She may have been on the phone, but I knew who she was talking to. No matter how much I drink, I can't get the look she gave him the other night out of my mind. She stepped in front of me to save him. Marco Reyes. I know about him, more than Elena probably does. He's a ruthless Latin playboy and Elena's going to marry him.

I didn't realize when I fell in love with her that she was some mafia princess. It's a complication I don't need. I know she can't help who she's related to, but this provides a welcome distraction for her. This whole week, this past month has been a distraction. She can let it go; God knows I've tried to get her to let it go. It's like I said. She should've stayed in the pool house, and stuck by my side at school. When she can't be with me, contact the two highly trained security guards I hired. I should've known. Elena Gilbert likes adventure. She likes a mystery, it's like solving a puzzle. Girl's quick as a whip and can think on her feet in a stressful situation. Not having to think about her future, a good one with her going to college and training for the Olympics, but she doesn't want it. That knowledge hit me like a truck this morning.

I'm not giving up. I just have to pivot.

Giuseppe told me all about the Russo family and the Giovanni family. Giovannis are smart and quick, preferring to keep up appearances and rule with an iron fist. They won't whack you, they'll take everything from you and then let you bleed out. The Russos are brutal. People fear them for good reason, they are the judge, jury, and executioner. Cross one of them and they leave you alive long enough to watch everyone you love die.

Cartels are judged differently. They lack the innate respect mafia families have. Mafia is old school, cartels deal in the twenty-first century and unlike the mafia, cartels have more territory. The mafia needs the cartel but the cartel does not need the mafia. When I saw that Reyes was interested in Elena, I knew it was done. He made the deal of the century with her. It is unheard of to combine both the cartel and the mafia and I have no doubt the Giovanni family will approve of that union. It is an alliance that will profit the entire eastern seaboard and beyond.

The union will also start a war between the Giovanni family and the Russo family and with the Reyes cartel on Giovanni's side, the Giovanni family will finally be able to absorb Russo territory.

I stumble to the liquor case and find vodka in the freezer, I hate vodka but it'll have to do. Maybe vodka's more effective at erasing her from my brain. I won't think about the cute grunt she makes when she wants to kill me or the moans she makes when she comes. I won't think about how soft her body is against mine, or how in her sleep she likes to lay on top of me, with her hand right over my heart. Just thinking about the feel of her thigh against my dick makes me hard.

Vodka clearly isn't working.

I check my phone for the hundredth time in ten minutes. She hasn't called. Hasn't texted. I lob the partially filled glass bottle of Grey Goose across the room. Two thoughts remain.

Who killed Chase?

What is Elena thinking right now?


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Damon

I lasted an hour at school.

I walked in wearing my usual uniform of jeans and a white John Varvatos tee shirt and aviator sunglasses. Yes, I wore sunglasses inside because I drank more than a suburban housewife last night and my head is pounding. I was about to take them off when I saw her at her locker with her hair loose, down her back. She's wearing an outfit I don't recognize, something obviously picked out by _him_. A short deep blue tunic dress with knee-length riding boots. It's not something she'd pick out on her own and the thought angers me more than the fact that _he_ bought her these clothes. It's like part of her is gone.

The guy Santiago called Raymond Winters follows her, his eyes peeled for potential problems. When his eyes set on me, he quickly moves Elena away from the crowded hallway.

Ford approaches me as I open my locker. "So you and Elena are…"

I glare at him and take one, very slight step forward. Ford holds up his hands, palms out. "She's hot, that's all I'm saying. It's 2019, her sex tape catapulted her to legendary status at MFHS. I don't know a single person who hasn't seen it. Chase had a viewing party, I mean before…"

I'm torn. I want to deck Ford, but I'm also curious about Chase. I think I can do both.

"What happened with Chase?"

"It happened that night," he runs a stressed hand through his hair. "First Noah and now Chase. Chase was throwing a viewing party, it was all over social media. Chase went out to get more beer for the after party and next thing we hear, he's in a wreck. A lot of us are going to a candle vigil ceremony for Chase and Noah tonight, you're more than welcome to join."

And I clock him. Straight across the face. He falls to the ground with a thud.

I step over him to go to my first class.

"I can't believe they let her go to school."

"I always knew she was a skank."

"How much do you think she made off of the video?"

"Millions," a freshman says. "That's why she has a bodyguard, to show off that she has celebrity status."

"She won't for long. A bunch of parents got together and are getting her kicked out."

"Caroline Forbes is working to clear Noah's name, in honor of his memory. Elena obviously lied during that trial. She just wants attention."

And that's it.

There's one person I can go to to get this video taken down and I happen to have something he wants.

After spending the entire drive to Falls City talking to Cameron and preparing for this meeting, I walk through the doors of Domenico Moretti's office after his secretary announces me. "Please sit, Mr. Salvatore."

I stand.

"I want the items Grayson Gilbert left Elena, and I'm willing to pay for it."

Domenico waves his hands around, showing off his expansive office and view. "I do not need money, Mr. Salvatore."

I drop a file folder on his desk. "Never said I'd pay in gold."

Curious, Domenico opens the folder and the way his eyes widen as he reads the papers is satisfying. "How did you get this?"

"Legally."

"I am sure the Salvatore name helps," he observes, glancing at the papers. "Fine, in exchange for the Port of Mystic Falls, I will give you Ms. Gilbert's documents."

I take the folder back and laugh. "That's not all I'm asking for."

Domenico presses a buzzer. "Harriett, we are going to need lunch ordered. Cancel all of my meetings, I am in the middle of negotiations."

I sit down, and we begin.

Elena

I lasted two hours.

It was pathetic, really. The first thing I did when I walked through the gates of hell, I looked for Damon. I just needed to see him. I know he's mad at me, but if I can just see that smug-ass smirk of his, I know I'll be able to get through the day. His car was in the senior parking lot, I know because I made Raymond drive through before parking. As people go to class, I don't see him. We have class together this afternoon. English— he's supposed to give me the notebook to write in.

But then things got bad.

Surprisingly, it wasn't my choice to leave. People had been making comments about the video and I ignored them. Over the last four years, I've gotten good at tuning out the taunts. Having Raymond follow me around had its advantages. No one dared to approach me directly with him right behind me wherever I went and I was able to convince him to wait outside the classroom when I had classes. However, in the middle of English lit, Jessica dumped water from her water bottle down my back and told me that I wasn't wanted in Mystic Falls and to leave town.

The teacher saw everything and said nothing. I excused myself to go to the bathroom to use the hand dryer to dry off my dress. Raymond took one look at me, and refused to leave me alone. What was most surprising was that the teacher didn't question his presence. I guess he just has that look about him.

Hearing about Chase's death was a shock. What was even more shocking was that people were actively blaming me for it. Saying that if I never made that video, he would still be alive. I don't know how they worked that one out. I just held my head up high and went about my business, until I was called into the principal's office.

Raymond insisted on going into the principal's office with me because of his orders to protect me. I explained that it's the principal and I didn't think anything would happen, except for him making a lewd comment. That didn't help matters at all. In the end, Raymond and I compromised. I could go in alone, but he'd stand at the door. It should also be noted that we had this conversation in the middle of the office and I did not care one bit.

I shut the door behind me and Principal Hale motioned for me to sit. "Your early acceptances to colleges have been rescinded," he says by way of greeting. "Schools are no longer interested in look at you. I've received phone call after phone call regarding concern over how I run my school and who I let in. The parent association started a petition and it already has four-hundred-fifty signatures. People in town signed the petition. They're angry over Noah and Chase's death and blame you for lying about the assault."

His words aren't shocking, but they still take the wind out of me. The empty feeling I've had for the past few days is still there, but more solid— like it's not going to ever go away.

"I wasn't lying," I argue. "They did this to me! That video, that was them. They were the guys in the football helmets."

"Really, Ms. Gilbert?" He says skeptically. "Another story. Another lie. Should we have a trial over this instance too?"

What do I say? What do I do? "You can't kick me out of school. This is a public school, I have the right to an education."

Principal Hale tilts his head to the side, his gaze sweeping from my boots, up my legs, slowly over my torso and lips. He stands up to move around his desk. He sits on the edge, right in front of where I'm sitting. "You do," he says, licking his lips. "You know Domenico Moretti and I'm inclined to help his friends."

I scoot my chair back but he stops me with his foot. He rubs himself over his pants. "I have to admit, I watched your production more than a few times."

"You can't do this," I whisper desperately. I don't know what to do. I refuse him, I'm kicked out of school and no one will believe me.

Principal Hale's hands move to either side of my chair. "Unzip my…"

"No," I shout and punch him in the dick. He groans and backs away just as Raymond rushes in, takes five seconds to analyze the situation and punches the shit out of Principal Hale. I stand and watch, enjoying every second of it.

After a few minutes, Raymond checks Principal Hale's pulse to make sure he's still alive and picks my bag up off the floor. "We're going," he orders.

I follow him out of the office, but instead of going to the parking lot, he guides me to my locker. "Clean out your locker, you're not coming back."

"What? Why?"

"You forget, Ms. Giovanni. I know the truth. There isn't much about you I don't know. If I have to stand by you and hear one more taunt, I will retaliate."

Yikes. They'd have to set up an emergency clinic in the parking lot. I look around that the gleaming tile floors and shiny red lockers with various signs encouraging people to support the booster club or join the chess club. The bell is about to ring. This school has been the absolute worst but there are a few good memories, most of which revolve around Damon. It was just a little over a week ago he had his way with me in one of the classrooms. There was his weird pep talk before the trial. Stealing his car to mess with him and run errands. His pranks, his laugh, and dirty sense of humor. Leaving this place is like saying goodbye to that part of my life. I feel more detached from Mystic Falls, but then, it's not technically my town. I wasn't born here and I'm not part of the Founding Families. It's where Jeremy died and my life was turned upside down. So what am I holding onto?

I pack up the rest of my items and am about to shut the locker door when the power goes out. "What's going on?"

Teachers amble out in the hallway, trying to figure out why the power suddenly went out. The French teacher, pulls a cellphone out of her pocket, looks at it, and rushes back into the classroom, pulls the blinds, and locks the door. Teachers down the hall do the exact same thing.

Raymond doesn't ask, he takes my bags and guides me to the nearest classroom, which happens to be the same empty science room Damon pulled me into a week ago. He places my bag on the table and takes out my phone from the front pocket. "Hey!" I scowl. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or not?"

He unlocks my phone. That's right, he can unlock my phone. Is there anyone that can't unlock my phone at this point? I need a new phone. I need the flip phone Captain America gave Tony Stark at the end of Civil War. Untraceable and the only game you can play on it is the snake game.

"The school's on lockdown," he informs me. "Your school sent out a text alert. Power was cut so it's organized. I need to get you out of here."

"All entrances will be locked," I explain, thinking about what we do during a lockdown drill. "It's procedure."

Raymond remains mute, going into military mode. He takes out his gun and places it on the teacher's desk. Then takes another one out and screws on a silencer. "I'm going to find a way out of the school. Lock the door after me and then stay hidden under the desk," he hands me a gun. "Don't move until I come back."

"How will I know it's you?"

"You will know because I will be the one that's alive."

There's something about the way Raymond is acting. I know he's highly skilled, but this is second nature to him. "You know who it is, don't you?"

"Lock the door behind me and stay hidden. Only use that," Raymond points at the gun. "If you are prepared to use it."

My hands tremble as I pick up the gun. This is different from Florida or Georgia. Those instances were completely in my control. I had a place to run and an enemy in my sights. I don't like being a sitting duck.

I walk with Raymond to the door. He tentatively opens it, looks both ways and leaves. I'm about to lock the door when I hear a faint _pop, pop, pop, _a noise I have become all too familiar with echoing through the hallway. Sounds like it came from the direction of the gym. I wait a beat, in case Raymond comes back and then lock the door.

I decided to set my pride aside and text Damon to make sure he's okay.

_Me: Are you okay?_

Nothing. I wait a few minutes, pacing the length of the classroom.

_Me: I know you're mad, but let me explain. Please._

Nothing. I pace the classroom again. I can't call him. We're fighting, I think he's done with me. Too much drama, but I can't leave it like this.

Fuck it.

I try to call him, but am sent directly to voicemail. The rejection stings but I still worry.

I'm about to hide under the desk when someone slams their hand against the door repeatedly. "Help! Someone, please help me."

I know that voice.

I unlock the deadbolt and Caroline Forbes hobbles in with on hand pressed firmly to her thigh, tripping over a chair in her hurry to get as far away from the door as possible. A trail of blood follows her path, pouring from her thigh. She's wearing gym shorts and an MFHS shirt. Her hair is askew and from the little light coming in from outside, she has a bruise forming on her arm. I lock the door behind her. "What happened?"

"Oh, God," she says. I rush to the sink and pull paper towels from the dispenser. "I was at gym when the power went out and tripped over the bleachers trying to get to the exit. It was a stampede then the coaches told us it was a lockdown and to take cover. I think I cut my leg against metal poking out from the edge of the bleacher. Or it could've been glass…I'm not sure."

I turn my cell phone's flashlight on. "Turn to the side."

I put pressure on it for a few minutes seeing waiting for the blood flow to stop. She turns her hip slightly so I can take off the towel and clean the area around her cut. "It's deep but not too deep," I tell her, once I get a clear look at it. "It might need stitches."

I place a new stack of paper towels on her thigh. "Hold this. I'm going to see if there's a first aid kit around here."

"Why are you helping me?"

I ignore her. What did she expect? Me to leave her out in the hallway? "How did you get here? The gym is across the school."

"It was pitch black in the gym. I had to get out, so I cut through the girl's locker rooms and went through the coaches' offices to get to the other side of the school," she explains.

I go through all the cabinets until I find a kit, stuffed in the back. I take it out and go through the supplies, concentrating on sorting items that'll help her with items that are useless. "Do you know why we're in a lockdown?"

Caroline scoffs. "Haven't you heard?"

"Obviously not."

"A guy wearing all black is roaming the halls with a gun, looking for someone."

"Who?"

I can't help but look up. She bites her lip and shrugs. What if it's Damon? What if he and I pissed someone off and they're looking for us? Well…I know we pissed off a lot of people, but who'd know where to find us? It's not like I wore a name tag all week.

I find bandages and gauze and bring the kit over to Caroline. "I heard gunshots ten minutes ago."

"He's a random sicko," Caroline comments. "He was probably some loner in high school and is targeting a teacher that failed him or something."

"Yeah," I reply sarcastically. "Because this is Mystic Falls and nothing bad happens here."

Caroline laughs but catches herself like she's ashamed she could possibly find something I said humorous. "Becky Smith was working in the front office this morning. She said that something happened with the principal and now you're leaving school."

I prop Caroline's injured leg on a chair and get on my knees so I can bandage it up until she can see a doctor. "Isn't that what everyone wants? Kate, Jessica and everyone else want me to leave Mystic Falls."

"You made a sex tape," Carline hisses in outrage and shock. "If you needed the money that badly, my mom would've helped."

I want to laugh but I also want to cry because I know Liz would help, even after everything she went through when my dad was sentenced. Because this is Caroline, my former bestie, I indulge her questioning. "Do you really think I made a sex tape?"

"I didn't watch it, but screenshots were all over my Instagram. It was obviously you in the video."

She's confident in her conclusion, but I can't help but feel disappointed even though I'm not surprised. "Well, it sounds like you've made up your mind."

"You stopped taking my phone calls, Elena. You withdrew from our friendship after your brother died. I listened to you at the trial, try me without a panel of students in the room."

I don't trust her. She might not have been an instigator, but I've never heard her stand up for me. Even when we were in middle school and everyone made fun of me because Miranda picked me up in a mini skirt and a bedazzled halter top with the words, _cowboys ride better_, she didn't stick up for me. She did distance herself from me for a week until the next rumor started.

"I don't trust you."

Caroline doesn't say anything. For such a simple statement, I've never been this forward with her. Once I've done the best I can with a deep gash, I slip my phone in the riding boot, grab the gun I placed on a nearby desk, and walk to the door. I need to find Damon. Today is a "B" schedule day, so he has PE right now. He could've been where Caroline left.

Caroline shifts in her chair, making sure the newly bandaged would isn't touching anything. Her eyes zero in on the gun. "Where are you going?"

"Out," I reply. "If a grumpy old guy in a sharp suit drops by, tell him I'm not one to be ordered around."

"You can't go out there, guns blazing and what am I supposed to do?"

She's acting like she can't walk. The cut wasn't that bad.

"Get off your ass and lock the door behind me," I reply. "Or not. It's up to you."

"Elena, you can't!"

"Why not? What aren't you telling me?"

"I heard your name after I fell. No one would help me and in the time it took me to get up, I heard someone use your name in an argument and that's when I heard the gunshot. After that, I ran out," she explains. "You can't go out there."

Now I have to. Curiosity has officially won.

"Why do you care?" I stand by the door, waiting for a response. When she can't give one, I leave.

I keep my back to the wall as I walk quietly down the hall toward the gym. The halls are barely illuminated by the prison-like rectangular windows above lockers.

There's a faint noise like someone crying— no, wailing. Whoever they are, they're hysterical. Then I see it. A handprint, a bloody handprint that's smeared like the victim was dragged along the floor. I do the stupid girl in a horror movie thing and follow the trail of blood. The stitches from the gunshot wound on my arm aren't even out and I'm walking into danger. Maybe Damon's right and I do have a problem.

No. I'm doing this because I know in my gut this has to do with me, otherwise Raymond wouldn't have left me in the science room and Caroline said I was mentioned.

Plus Damon might need my help.

The bloody trail leads me to the men's restroom. I stand by the door and hear the wailing and sobbing louder. _Oh, my God. Oh, my God_. Her voice is thick and desperate. I push on the swinging door and see the dark outline of a girl, leaning over a body. She screams, not knowing who I am at first— it's so dark.

"Kate, shut up!" I hiss, closing the door behind me. I crouch down and grab my phone tucked inside my boot. I turn the flashlight on and am so horrified by what I see, I almost drop the phone.

Frederick is laying in a pool of his own blood and Kate's covered in it, hysterically crying over his body. His body is still and his skin is ashen. "He won't wake up," she sobs.

Holy shit. Frederick's dead. In less than seventy-two hours, my three rapists are dead. One died in jail. One died in a car accident. One was shot.

I dial 911 and wait for a dispatcher to pick up. Nothing. "What happened?" I asked, trying to keep Kate talking. She looks like she's about to go into shock.

She doesn't answer, she just keeps crying with Frederick's head in her lap, brushing his hair with her blood-soaked hand. I decide to go with a simpler question. "Kate, who are you holding?"

Her eyes look up at me for the first time. "Frederick," she whispers, her voice hoarse.

"Where did you find him?"

911 still isn't picking up.

"I was with him in the hall outside the gym. Everyone was running because of the power going out," she mutters. "A guy wearing black shot him and asked for Elena Gilbert. I dragged him in here so he'd be safe until help comes. Help is going to come, right?"

She must not recognize me. If they were in the hallway that means there was a little light illuminating the area. The intruder shoots Frederick and asks for me…that can't be a coincidence.

I scan my flashlight over his body, hoping someone will come on the line and help us. It's covered in blood, but he's wearing his gym clothes, which means his name is on the back of his shirt.

"Did you see Damon?"

With her eyes still cast on Frederick, she shakes her head. "He left before gym."

He left? Why?

Still no answer from 911. I kneel down and check Frederick's pulse. There is none. I look for bullet wounds and see three in his chest. That explains the shots I heard earlier.

Kate tried to run me off the road and beat me up. She is no friend, but in the moment, she's just another senior. "Kate, you need to lock the bathroom door behind me. Don't leave until you're rescued or get the all-clear announcement. I'm going to get help."

She wordlessly nods in a way that makes me think my words are not sinking in. I snap my fingers in front of her face. "Kate! Listen to me. You have to lock this door behind me, okay? Say, okay."

"Okay," she croaks.

I end the call and put the phone back in my boot before standing up with my gun in my right hand. I leave the bathroom and continue my path down the hall. It's eerie how quiet and dark the hallway is. The closer I get to the auditorium, raised voices become more clear. I don't go through the main entrance, instead, I go behind the stage and hide behind the opening curtains. There's little light in the auditorium, but I can make out two men, one of whom happens to be Raymond. Raymond has his gun pointed at the intruder, who looks like he's nursing an injured leg by the way he's crouched on the floor.

"Giovanni sent you?"

The guy doesn't say anything, so Raymond pulls the trigger and I hear a light piercing whistle before the man in all black screams and clutches his other leg.

"I won't ask again."

Click.

"Yes," he croaks.

"We both know what will happen. I can kill you quickly or Giovanni can take his time," Raymond says. "Now tell me why you're here."

"Kill the scum that raped a member of the Giovanni family, then take her home." the words come out in a desperate tumble, gasping between each word.

The second he finishes the sentence, Raymond shoots him in the head. An audible gasp escapes my lips. I reflexively slap my hand over my mouth. Raymond's gun aims in my direction, but when I reveal myself, he lowers his weapon.

"Are you hurt?" He asks.

Huh? I follow his gaze. My knees and dress are covered in blood.

"Not my blood," I explain, surprised to here a stutter in my voice. "That man…what did he mean? Kill the scum that raped a Giovanni, what does that mean?"

Raymond rushes to me and takes the gun I forgot I was holding out of my hands. "Antonio Giovanni knows," he explains. "Noah Scott's story made national headlines and got his attention. Then the video confirmed it. Thanks to that video, he knows you're not dead, as he suspected."

"How did he know I was taken advantage of?"

"Antonio grew up in that world and he is not stupid. It is obvious to anyone that thinks with their brain and not another organ that you were drugged and forced," Raymond replies. "Also, it wouldn't have mattered to him either way. Three kids touched what's his, they're lucky their deaths were quick."

I'm trying to make sense of this. My biological father knows I exist. "The news said Noah committed suicide."

"The Giovanni reach is far. I'm guessing he got the names of the other two boys before Scott was killed," Raymond explains. "Now, no more questions. We need to get you out of here."

"There's a girl, Kate. She's in the bathroom with Frederick's body. She needs help."

"Is she hurt?"

"No."

"Then she can wait until help arrives. You are more important." He guides me out of the room and down the hallway to the science room. I knock on the door. "Caroline, it's me!"

Raymond cocks his eyebrow curiously.

The door clicks and we enter. "Who is that?" Caroline asks when she sees Raymond.

I ignore her and so does Raymond. He walks past her and grabs my things before walking back and taking me with him. Caroline doesn't utter a word and I have none to give.

Raymond guides me through the kitchens and makes me wash myself off as best as I can before guiding me to the back of the school. An Escalade is parked with the engine running.

A guy wearing black cargo pants and a black shirt that stretches across his massive chest hands Raymond the keys. He tips his hat to me before Raymond orders me to get in the car.

"Clean up in the auditorium. You have twenty minutes. Cops can't get into the school yet," Raymond explains.

He nods and leaves the way we came.

Raymond walks around the back of the Escalade and tosses my items in before reminding me to get in the car. I have so many questions I want to ask and yet, I can't decide where to start. From what I can tell, we're driving back to the penthouse I stayed in when I arrived back in town. My thoughts are abruptly cut off. "Mr. Reyes wants to talk to you."

Oh.

He hands me his phone from the front seat. I bring it to my ear, unsure of what to say. "You didn't answer your phone," he says by way of greeting. I pull the phone from my boot and look at it. Sure enough, there are five missed calls from Marco. None from Damon. Not even a text.

"I was distracted."  
"I'm sure," he replies. "You have had a busy morning."

"That's the understatement of the century."

He chuckles. "Are you okay?"

I shrug my shoulders but remember he can't see me. "Yeah, how are you?"

It's a dumb response, I know it the moment it leaves my lips. His laugh deepens and I'm grateful he can't see me because my face is surely beet red. "Don't worry about me. I want to know how you are. The truth."

Guilty is what I want to say. Misguided guilt, but the image of Kate crying over Frederick will forever be imprinted into my mind. They deserved to be punished, but I wanted my day in court— real court, not student court. I want that video to be taken down.

"They're dead because of me."

"They deserved much worse than death. However, they were given swift deaths, they were lucky. I expected Giovanni to draw it out, but I think he was going for dramatic effect."

Reyes's deal with Domenico prevented him from taking any sort of action against that video. I also have a feeling he knew the problem would resolve itself without his interference. "They're looking for me."

Reyes, to his credit, tries to be honest and upfront when he can. "They are, which is why I'm having Raymond take you back to the penthouse for a few days, and then I'm taking you to my compound in Mexico."

"I thought you were waiting until I was eighteen."

"The timeline has to be moved up. Ten minutes ago, my contacts in Chicago told me that the Russo family are sending people. Giovanni's people are already in Mystic Falls. A tutor will work with you to finish high school, and then we can talk about college," he replies. "When you turn eighteen, I'll make a deal with the Giovanni family and we can be married. I don't think they'll be able to refuse the deal."

His deal expands his territory and the Giovanni territory, something I'm guessing Domenico doesn't see coming. He wanted to sell me to Reyes to humiliate the Giovanni family, when in fact, they'll benefit from it. It will most definitely piss off the Russos, which is probably what he's going for.

My whole life already planned out because Reyes happens to be the lesser of all the evils in my life. Domenico sold me and I have no out. According to my dad even, the Russos want to kill me because my very existence is an embarrassment to their family and my late mother's legacy. If I leave Reyes before he can make the deal, Giovanni will marry me off, and I have no control over who it would be to. For all I know, it could be a sadist.

And apparently, Damon wants nothing to do with me.

"I'm not leaving Mystic Falls," I argue. "You can put more guards on me if you have to. I'm not leaving until I've graduated and I'm eighteen."

If I could just talk to Damon, maybe we could figure this out. That's what I should've done in Florida. I should've just told him everything and asked for help. Why is it so hard for me to ask for help? If I can drag this out until I'm eighteen, I can figure this out. Maybe call Uncle John, once I get a burner phone, and ask him for help. Damon could come too, we could make a run for it in Europe. He didn't want to work for his father's company and this would give him an out.

A month ago I was trying to decide what schools I wanted to apply to and college scouts were at my running meets and now I'm stuck bargaining for any life that involves freedom.

"That is not possible," Marco says. "I'm not going to risk my most valuable asset."

"Feels real good to be called an _asset,_ Marco." Sarcasm drips with every word I utter.

"And yet, you are and also," he adds. "So much more."

"Better."

"Is the penthouse comfortable?"

The three bedroom top floor penthouse with a view of the city and a rooftop garden with a pool? A closet full of designer clothes and accessories in my size? A kitchen worthy of the cooking channel? "Yeah, it's comfortable."

"Good. Stay there until I can come and get you. If you need anything, ask Raymond. And answer your phone when I call."

"Yes, master." More sarcasm which he laughs off.

"Viviana, I promise you. I will make you happy, even if you don't see it right now," he says and he's so sincere, I almost forget he called me an asset a couple minutes ago.

"Okay."

"Now, hand the phone back to Raymond."

Raymond takes the offered phone and talks to Marco. Well…he doesn't really talk but gives one-word answers. _Yes. No. Okay. Yes. Yes. No. Fine._

I look at my phone again. No phone call from Damon. No text.

Marco is watching my phone, I don't doubt it for a second. He's seen the text messages I've sent to Damon. I need another phone, well, two actually. One that's untraceable and the other a replacement for the one Marco is currently tracking.

I just need to keep playing along and keep trying to buy myself time. Play the good little prisoner for a few more days until I figure out another path.

Marco may be watching my phone, but my school email has yet to be linked to this phone. I could…

"Mr. Winters?" I ask from the back seat.

He grunts, which I assume means he's listening.

"Am I allowed to have guests? There's someone I want to say goodbye to before I leave for Mexico."

"You don't have friends."

Low blow.

"Except for Damon Salvatore, and he is not allowed to visit," Raymond adds.

Of course, he isn't.

"What about going out?"

"Orders are for you to stay in the penthouse until Mr. Reyes can collect you."

Collect me like a doll or a coin. Christ.

"But I'm allowed to have guests as long as it's not Damon Salvatore?"

"No."

"It'll be for like five minutes. A hug goodbye and that's it. She's a college student, in finance. She helped me out at the beginning of the school year, I just want to thank her before I go."

"Send her an email. No one can know where you live, that's one of the rules. You know this, Ms. Giovanni."

I groan. "What if we stop by her work?"

"Okay, what's the address?"

"It's in my email. Give me a minute," I need to buy Heidi time. "Before we go, can we get something to eat? I haven't been able to eat all morning."

I see him check his rearview mirror, I assume to see if we're being followed, then his gaze locks on mine. I attempt to give him my most innocent look.

I take out my laptop and load email. I just pray that Heidi is online. She owes me. Big time after what she pulled. Using the school browser, I log into my email and find Heidi in my contacts. She sent me more than a few apology emails and I reply.

From: egilbert 

To: hdallas 

Subject: Re: I'm so sorry

Heidi-

I need your help! Are you at work?

Elena

I sit nervously in the car, waiting for a reply while Marco tries to find a café to grab a quick bite. Her reply is close to instantaneous.

From: hdallas 

To: egilbert 

Subject: re: re: I'm so sorry

Yes, and don't judge me. The lunch crowd is surprisingly busy. What do you need?

From: egilbert 

To: hdallas 

Subject: re: re: re: I'm so sorry

I need three prepaid flip phones and a new iPhone. I'll pay you triple in cash if you can get it in thirty minutes.

From: hdallas 

To: egilbert 

Subject: re: re: re: re: I'm so sorry

Done! I'll get Candy to cover my shift.

I send her an email explaining the rough details of my visit before closing my computer. Raymond pulls into a Starbucks and asks me what I want. I purposefully make my order complicated to buy extra time. What I don't expect is for Raymond to place the order on his phone, so he can wait in the parking lot with me until it's ready.

Raymond catches me checking my phone for the millionth time. "Damon Salvatore knows when to give up."

"I'm not…" I feel my cheeks heat. "What do you mean?"

"You don't mess with Marco Reyes, everyone with an ounce of common sense knows that. His reach is far, and will be much further soon."

"You're wrong. He was the one that rescued me from Marco a few nights ago." I feel the need to defend him even though I'm going through every possible reason as to why Damon wouldn't text me back, especially after a guy with a gun was set loose in the school.

"You doubt it, I can see it in your face."

Dammit.

He twists in his seat so he can face me. "You protected Mr. Reyes that night. I saw the security footage. Mr. Reyes will never forget that, which means he will never let you go. Salvatore knew that the moment you stood between the two men. I saw his reaction in the video too."

"What did you see?"

"A man who lost."

I bite my lip and look out the window. He can't be right, right? But I can't get over the feeling that that's when I lost him. I'm not going anywhere until I can talk to him, if anything is solidified at this moment, it is that fact.

When Raymond picks up our food, I call Damon again. Once again, I'm sent directly to voicemail.

Damon

Elena likes to call me the Dark Prince, but I wasn't until now. I made a deal with the devil. I have dozens of missed calls from her and text messages that have gone unanswered. The timing of everything is too fragile. If she hesitates for a second, it'll be too late and this will all have been done for nothing.

"You'll lose her forever," Cameron says over a bottle of bourbon we're sharing.

I pour myself another drink. "I know."

"I've seen you two together, that kind of love only comes around once in a lifetime. Elena knows it and I know it. She's still calling you even after you lied about the video, and she definitely won't leave you after finding out what you did for her," Cameron says, digging the knife in even further.

"That's why she can't know because the only way this works is if she leaves and doesn't ever set foot in the United States again," I explain. "None of this can be traced back to me."

A text message comes in from Heidi informing me that Elena is coming to see her. Why would Elena visit Heidi? After what Heidi did for me, Elena hates her. Elena needs to hate me, which shouldn't be too hard given our history. I send her a text message telling her to take Elena to the party I'm throwing tonight. I'll start the party late, after the several wakes I've been invited to and refuse to attend. And to incentivize Heidi, I tell her I'll pay her five grand in cash.

"I'm throwing Elena a goodbye party tonight," I tell Cameron.

"Damon, don't," he warns.

"She has to leave before it's too late. Domenico gave me until the end of Thanksgiving weekend for guaranteed safe travel out of the country—that's all he could get without it being noticeable. Outside of that week, the Russos, Giovannis, and Reyes will be able to pick her up at the airport the moment she goes through security. I wouldn't be surprised if her name and photo have been flagged."

I wish I could go with her. I wish I could take her out of this country and never look back, but I have to stay.

"So far, he's followed through. The video is down."

"That wasn't part of the deal. Ten minutes into our negotiation, we received a notification that the video had been taken down."

"But Moretti owns the company that bought it."

"The company no longer exists. Any trace of it was wiped from the internet. The most mysterious consequence of that video is Peter Kraus."

"The local entertainment news anchor?"

"And major stockholder in Starr Industries. He was arrested on child pornography charges today. He's the first of many. Another stockholder, Ken Bryant was also arrested on the same charges."

"Elena's age…"

"We weren't the only ones trying to get that video taken down. Axel Pace was shot dead, body found in Miami. News won't cover that story either."

Cameron pours himself another drink and sits back in one of the leather armchairs in my father's office. His jacket is already slung over the back of the chair, but he loosens his tie before he takes a drink. "Frederick, Chase, and Noah, the three kids responsible for Elena's kidnapping and rape are dead, and now anyone who's come in contact with the purchase of that video is being arrested for related charges, but not directly related. So it's someone who cares about Elena because they don't want her name splattered through the media. They don't want to bring more attention to the video. So the question is, is it Reyes, Russo, or Giovanni?"

Even hearing his name makes me want to throw my glass against the wall, or fly to Miami and kick his smug ass. That ring. The way she stood between me and him. The way she was with him before she knew I was watching. Marco Reyes is more threatening than any of the families.

"Reyes recently made a deal with Domenico. Domenico told me that part of the deal was not to mess with the video, so if he did, Moretti would've known," I explain. However the fact that Pace was found dead in Miami…

"Russos wouldn't care about the video," Cameron comments. "They're known to be more brutal. Known to deal in human trafficking."

"So that leaves Giovanni," I mutter. "The walls are closing in."

I pick up my phone and start calling vendors. "She needs to be pushed out of the city but she needs to know she has options outside of Reyes."

"What are you going to do?"

"Throw a party and do something I loathe."

"What's that?"

"Talk to my dad."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Elena

"The Dancing Pony?" Raymond reads off a sign above the strip club.

"I heard the pay is great," I comment, getting out of the car. "I'll be ten minutes."

"I'm coming with you."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, but no matter what happens, I'll meet you back here in ten."

Heidi knows to have Candy distract him at the front door and if that doesn't work, Tiny, their bouncer is a chatterbox. I lead the way into the club, walk right past the bouncer, who I give a high five, and to the dressing rooms. I weave through the crowd, hoping I lost Raymond along the way.

Heidi screams and gives me a hug. Not all has been forgiven, but for the show, I have to give, I pretend like we've been besties forever. She drags me deeper into the dressing room and whispers in my ear, "Ariel is keeping watch."

Even so, she drags me behind a white dressing divider with paper panels. I lean down and grab the money I took from my backpack while Raymond was getting the food, from my boot. Money that I've kept in my backpack for emergencies and will continue to keep for emergencies. Cash is king, as Uncle John would say.

I hand her the money and she hands me the phones, all unwrapped, and I slip them in my boot. "They should be mostly charged," she informs me, handing me a charger for the burner phone, which I slip in my other boot.

I stand straight and do a little dance. "Does it look noticeable?"

She shakes her head, then her eyes widen as if she just noticed something. "Your dress is covered in blood," she observes. "Or is that ketchup? Please say it's ketchup."

"Long story," is the only explanation I give.

Taking that information in stride, she changes the topic. "So you're going to be at Damon's party, right?"

My chin jerks up, all attention on Heidi. "What party?"

She furrows her brow in confusion. "He's throwing one tonight at his mansion. Aren't you two together, or something?"

I shake my head because we aren't technically together but I can't form the words. He's throwing a party? Something is off. He hasn't contacted me and he's throwing a party?

"That look says a lot."

"What does it say?"

"I don't mean to bring this up because I sorta screwed you over that night…"

"You totally screwed me over, but please, explain," I interrupt.

"Anyways, Damon watched you like you belonged to him, it was more than possessive, it was as though you were burned into his soul, bound to him by something so much deeper…"

"You need to lay off the erotic novels, Heidi," a girl yells from behind the divider. "But she's right, girly girl. That boy's eyes never left your skinny ass."

"My point is," Heidi enunciates, to drown out the laughter around us. "Someone who looks at you like that takes care of you like he did that night, won't leave you. Go to the party with me tonight and talk to him."

"Do you know how hard it was for me to come here? There's no way I'm going to be able to get away tonight."

"Where are you staying?"

I'm not supposed to tell Heidi. I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but I do it anyway. "The Concord- the penthouse."

She whistles. "Well shit, that complicates things, but trust me. I'll get you out, just be ready by nine."

I look at the clock on the wall. I have to head out. It doesn't hurt to try, especially if she's taking the risk. "Fine!"

"Yay!" She squeals doing a happy dance that quickly becomes dirty when Ariel joins in.

I walk around their dancing and back to the front where I see Raymond talking to Tiny. I knew it. He takes one look at me, nods then nods to Tiny and that's that- we're off.

A short while later, I'm back in the penthouse suite. Raymond puts my bags down. "If you need anything, call me. I'll be at my post." Which means he stands outside my door. "Expect a call from Mr. Reyes."

I sit on the couch and turn on the television. "Thanks, Mr. Winters."

After he leaves, I do a sweep of the apartment. I know Marco has cameras in here, but there have to be blind spots. Marco wants me to know I'm being watched, so it isn't exactly hard to see where some of the cameras are: in obvious corners, or outside doorways. However, Marco is smart enough to know I'll look for them which means he probably has some less obvious cameras.

Sure enough, I spot one in a picture frame and another in a plant. I don't take them out because that would be suicidal and to be quite honest, Marco is Plan C. I'm not obvious in my search either, I pretend to be talking on the phone while I pace the stretch of the penthouse, having a one-sided conversation about superhero movies.

I pretend to hang up the phone and go into the bathroom like I'm going to shower. I do need to shower the blood off of me but right now, I'm guessing the shower is the safest place. I turn on the water and wait for it to warm up. I don't see any cameras and honestly, Marco doesn't seem like the guy that'd take pleasure in spying on me while I change a tampon, but one can't be too sure. I don't know what his kink is yet and hope to never find out.

I don't trust it, so to be careful, when I take off my boot, I strategically place the phones inside a towel before stripping and taking a shower. Everything in the penthouse is top-quality, from the clothes he bought me to the items in the kitchen. There are several different salts in the kitchen cabinet. I didn't even know there was such thing as pink salt until I had to use it to season my grilled cheese last night. The shampoo, conditioner, and body wash are from France and the towels are huge and fluffy and warm thanks to a towel warmer.

I take a luxurious shower but I can't help but think of my truck stop shower with Damon. It wasn't that long ago he held me and made sure my gunshot wound didn't get wet. He was so careful and kind after gloriously rough sex. But that's Damon. He's everything. He's cruel and impulsive but also tender and sweet. He drinks and swears, but makes sure I have my seatbelt on in the car and that we have enough snacks for a road trip. He likes to rest his hand on my thigh, almost as if the simple touch centers him and when he feels naughty, he creeps that hand up, just a little at a time. He's emotional and impulsive but also so freaking smart and strategic. He has a good heart that he only allows a couple of people to see. Well, maybe just me. But he's always been that way with me since we were kids.

We're both competitive; even in elementary school, our shouting matches were legendary, but it's only ever been him. He brings it out of me. And this? Going to a party he purposefully didn't tell me about? It's our cycle all over again. He lied and I'm pissed. I didn't outright tell him about the ring and he's pissed. Round and round we go.

I don't have a good feeling about the party but I have to admit that even if Heidi couldn't help me get to the party, I'd find a way. I need to talk to him. Again, I remind myself: Marco is Plan C but Damon is Plan A, even though I'd never tell him that.

I blow out my hair and dress in skinny, high rise distressed jeans and a simple white v-neck tee. Though, there's nothing simple about the tee shirt considering the price tag. I spend the afternoon lounging and watching tv, until my cell rings. Not the ones Heidi got me, which are currently hiding on a high ledge in the shower. This is the cell I bought in Macon that Marco returned and it just so happens that he's the one calling me.

"Hello, Marco."

"Viviana, I am sad that you aren't wearing your ring," he says by way of greeting. I glance at the camera in the top left corner of the room and give a little wave. I just have to play along until I figure something else out.

I take the velvet box out of my backpack and look at it, daring to open the case. "I didn't exactly get a proper proposal."

"I plan to remedy that," he hums and something about his thick, heavy voice does things to my stomach. I can practically picture him sitting on the same roof we sat on days ago, smoking a cigar.

I put the box down on the coffee table. "I'm also seventeen."

"Age is just a number, love."

Love? That's new but sounds right coming from his lips.

I shake my head, he is Plan C and Damon is Plan A, I remind myself.

"Doesn't take away from the fact that after today, I am officially a high school drop-out."

"A tutor will help you finish up when I come and collect you," he replies. "I called to see how you're doing."

I move my legs so I'm lying lengthwise on the couch. "I don't know, to be honest."

"Explain it to me."

"Well, I'm overwhelmed," I admit. "The three boys that kidnapped and drugged me are dead, most likely by my biological father's organization. You tell me that I'm in danger, but if what I said is true, then my family just committed murder to avenge me."

He hums. "Look at your phone."

I look and see new pictures came in. It's a picture of a sniper rifle and marksman on the roof of the coffee shop outside of Mystic Falls High School. Another is a picture of several men in all black gear, including weapons belts and gun harnesses walking into a hummer. Then the next photo is that hummer following us. There's even a shot of me with my head down in the back of Raymond's car.

"Those are Russo's men. You see, in this business, Giovanni is known for sending expendables or lower-ranking members of his organization to do his dirty work. When they accomplish what he sets them out to do, they get promoted in the organization. The kid Winters killed is the son of Giovanni's low ranking capos. Russo's army is bigger and has more soldiers. Where Giovanni has loyalty, Russo has man power. Look at the next photo."

I look at my phone, I recognize it as a PI shot of the marksman in the earlier photo, at a political fundraiser for the Mayor of Chicago, according to the signs in the photo. "Russo is trying to kill Isabella's mistake," I mutter. "Mr. Winters knew?"

"I knew," he says. "Winters is impeccable at his job."

My stomach goes a little queasy at the thought. Now that I see these photos, I realize he took me to see Heidi because these men were after us. I provided the perfect diversion before we got back to the penthouse.

"Look at your phone again," he whispers. He sounds apprehensive, his voice is a husky whisper.

The photo is of a man in his late twenties, with long thick, dark hair, that's almost wavy and olive skin. He has a piercing, pale green eyes and a trimmed, short beard. He's classically handsome, but there's something about the eyes. It's not that they aren't gorgeous, it's that they're empty. Then _my_ eyes sweep down and I see a massive scar from his clavicle to his neck. It's not a surgical scar, because it's jagged and looks almost as if he didn't go to the doctor and let it heal on its own as a symbol of pride.

"What do you see?" He asks in the same voice.

"Death," I breathe.

I hear a faint sigh of relief, but if I wasn't listening for it, I wouldn't have caught it. "Angelo Caprioli, he's the consigliere of the Caprioli organization, a smaller organization located in Las Vegas. Il Boia…"

"The executioner," I translate.

"Not just an executioner,_ the_ executioner. Known for his unique tastes, his inability to forgive, and skill with a knife. I received word from an inside source in the Giovanni organization that you are to marry him to unite the two organizations. Your wedding is set for August, just after your eighteenth birthday."

Breath catches in my throat as I picture an Elvis impersonator officiating my wedding, while I stand at the altar in a blindingly white polyester dress, staring into the eyes of my misery. "I haven't even met my biological father and he's planning my wedding as part of a business deal."

"I won't let it happen," Marco promises. "Negotiations haven't started between me and the Giovannis, and they won't until I'm ready. We'll go to Mexico, where my mother can spoil you. You can finish school there, and we'll discuss college once things have settled down."

Once things settle down sounds like code for never. Ever since these people have come into my life, my world has been chaotic, and from what I've learned, that's been since birth. "I want something."

"Name it."

"I want to destroy Domenico Moretti." He's the one that outed my name. Miranda sold him the information, but other than being born, I had nothing to do with what happened to him. I could've gotten a running scholarship. I could've been an Olympian, but now that's all out the window thanks to him. He bought that video. He sold me so he could get his product in the south and Mexico.

Marco is silent for a minute. "I have plans down the line if you are okay being patient."

I didn't expect him to torch his organization to the ground tonight. "Fine."

"There is something that I hope is unnecessary but it must be said."

"Okay…"

"If you run from me, I will find you. You are mine and I do not let go of what's mine."

He knows.

Or does he?

He can't.

Damon said I was his and look where that got us. I'm in another rich dude's penthouse with another rich dude's bodyguard.

"Understood," I say, playing along.

"If you need anything, ask Winters. Answer your phone when I call tomorrow."

"Okay," I reply. I want to say something snarky about him ordering me around but Plan C is a tempting offer and I don't want to piss it off at the moment.

"Dulces sueños, Viviana Giovanni."

I hang up. That voice is very soothing, like warm spiced coffee on a cold day.

I rest my eyes, thinking about calling off going to Damon's party tonight. He obviously doesn't want me there, why push it? My eyes flash open, and I check my phone again. Nope, no call or text or email or DM from Damon. There is an incoming email from Heidi telling me to leave now and that the coast is clear.

Shit. Marco will see.

I grab my backpack and go to the bathroom to stuff the phones Heidi got me in there. Making sure my computer is in there, I leave the phone Marco returned to me in the bathroom and push the inside lock before I close the bathroom door. If he's tracking the phone, it'll lead to a locked bathroom. There aren't any cameras in the bathroom, I don't think. There's a thirty-second window showing me pack my items and leaving- it'll have to be good enough.

Heidi's right, the hallway is clear. I almost feel bad for Winters. He did save me from getting shot this morning and he's nice in a matter of fact way.

Once I make it to the lobby, Heidi comes from nowhere, grabs my arm, and tugs me to her car, parked at an awful angle in the circular drive like she was in a rush and didn't care. "The manager of the building is a customer," she explains. "He pulled your bodyguard away to review security while distracting him from actual security footage."

"I give the manager less than twenty-four hours before he's fired or killed."

"Seriously?" Heidi looks almost afraid.

"Heidi isn't your real name, is it?"

"No."

"Marco doesn't know I visited you and if there's nothing linking you to me, you're fine."

As of seven o'clock, my school email is locked, so the emails we exchanged shouldn't be a problem. One of the few silver linings to getting kicked out of school. She breathes a sigh of relief, unlocking her car. We get in and she speeds to Damon's. We don't talk, mainly because I haven't forgiven her but also I know she has a lot of questions I can't answer.

There are about a hundred cars parked down the street and on the Salvatore lawn. Heidi does something I didn't expect, and pulls up through the service entry, near the pool house. I'm about to get out when Heidi places a hand on my arm. "I'm not this person," she says. "I really am sorry."

Odd.

I slowly withdraw my hand. "Thanks for the phones and getting me here tonight."

Her red-painted lips turn downward, but I leave her there to contemplate her guilt. She's dressed like she's a dancer tonight, in a tight red dress that matches her lips, so I'm not surprised when she walks in through the back kitchen. She's worked these events before and knows her way around.

I follow, awkwardly carrying my backpack as I walk around my peers dancing around the pool, some in the pool, some pushing others into the pool. I keep my head down, no one seems to notice I'm here. Probably because they didn't expect me. I guess this party is evidence of the stressful day everyone has had. Music is playing loudly, people are making out, playing games, and drinking with abandon. I squeeze my way through the crowd, keeping my eyes peeled for Damon.

I need a drink.

Settling for whatever is in one of the many coolers stationed around the mansion, I pull out a beer and take the cap off with an opener hanging off the side of the cooler. I lean against the wall and watch people walk by, laughing and gossiping, while I take a long drink. I'm not even in the main room, where Heidi probably is. Rafe of all people sidles next to me, taking a beer out of the cooler for himself. "I didn't expect to see you here."

His hair is a little longer and lighter, probably thanks to the California sun. "I thought you decided to stay in California."

He shrugs his shoulders before turning slightly to me. "I'm visiting my mom for the holiday."

"That's right, Thanksgiving is Thursday."

"You forgot?"

"Never been a fan of cranberry sauce, so it must've slipped my mind," I joke with a shrug of a shoulder.

"Canned cranberry sauce tastes like old grape jam. You have to have homemade, it's the only way to eat Thanksgiving turkey," he explains, pushing the sleeves of his green long-sleeved shirt up. He looks good, but that's never been a problem.

I peer around him. "Have you seen Damon?"

"Why do you want to see him?" Rafe scowls like a petulant child.

Still bitter. I roll my eyes and walk away, ignoring his cries of apology. I find an unoccupied leather armchair and sit on the edge. I watch a game of pool while listening to music and nursing the beer in my hand with my backpack at my feet. It's dark in the room, except for a lamp above the pool table and the glow of the arcade games next to the table. I seem to blend in, which is nice.

A tall, lean imposing figure saunters into the room. He's holding a crystal tumbler of what is sure to be from his father's liquor stores. He walks in like he's checking on the pool game and laughs with Mikey, one of the pool players.

"Hey, you were at the cross country state championship, right? Elena Gilbert?"

The stocky blonde sits in the leather chair I'm leaning against. "I am."

"Shit, you were like, awesome. I attend Falls City Prep, my entire team watched you cross the finish line and break state records. I'm Brent."

That feels like a year ago. He offers me a hand and I shake it awkwardly. Seems incredibly formal for a high school party.

"You know, I like watching distance running races on TV and everyone thinks I'm insane," I comment. Really Santi and Mal hated my love for Saturday morning's Iron Man competitions. "I can spend an entire morning watching a competition."

"Same!" He exclaims with his hands. "I'd like to think I could do it, but the furthest I've run is eight miles."

He must run the 5,000 meters. "Distance running isn't about skill," I explain. "It's about who's the most stubborn."

He laughs and it's a nice laugh. Youthful, like he doesn't have a care in the world except who he's going to ask to winter formal. "I can't believe that one day I'm going to be able to say that I talked to Olympic gold medalist Elena Gilbert."

My cheeks heat. I turn toward him and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. "That's the dream, right?"

"That was my dream," he mutters bitterly.

"Was?"

"I used to dive, woke up at four in the morning every day just for workouts, but I was told by a coach that I don't have the body type," he explains.

"That sucks, I'm sorry."

He places a hand on my thigh. "According to my coach, you'll go all the way."

Does he mean?

No.

Something catches my eye just over his shoulder, wearing a black tee stretched over his broad shoulders and dark jeans, his pale blue eyes glimmer maliciously. Damon's moved away from the pool game and is leaning against the wall, watching me. He's pissed and I am very okay with that.

I lean into the Brent, suddenly not caring what his coach implies. "I will go all the way."

His brows wiggle suggestively, his hands slide further up my jean-clad thigh. "I thought so."

My eyes flick back to Damon, remaining unmoved except for the dark shadow that seems to cast over his countenance. "What else did you coach say?"

Brent places a hand on either side of me and tugs me so I'm sitting in his lap. "He said you were fun."

His coach should be fired for what he's implying. I lean into Brent and place hands on his hard chest. Again, my eyes flick toward Damon. And as I lean into Brent, I my eyes are only on Damon as I whisper in Brent's ear. "I am so much fun." I place a kiss just below Brent's ear and hum against his skin. "You smell nice."

Brent's hands press into my waist and wander north along my spine. Damon's like a statue from the depths of hell, daring me to willingly drag myself down with him. His eyes darken, watching what I do next. I raise my eyebrows slightly. _Okay, Damon. You asked for it._

I glance in Brent's lust-filled eyes and I don't have to worry about making the next move, because he does. He places his lips on mine. My eyes gaze where Damon was standing. He's gone. Maybe I went too far.

Suddenly, I'm lifted into the air and placed on the pool table, in the middle of a game. Damon glares at me, telling me not to move. Then swiftly turns around and punches Brent in the face. Because punching someone in the face is the norm where Damon's concerned, he turns right back around, picks me up, places me on my feet, takes my backpack, and hauls me out of the entertainment room. It all happens within the span of thirty seconds.

I attempt to yank myself free from his firm grasp, but he doesn't let go until we're alone in a darkened hallway. "I was having a very interesting conversation, Damon. You can't just punch someone for talking to me."

I am baiting him and it feels fantastic.

Damon's entire hard body presses me against the wall as his lips crash into mine, consuming me from my body to my thoughts. Each kiss with Damon is unique and conveys his mood without words. When we're in the car before school, he'll sweetly kiss me on the lips and then the nose and then my forehead before we start our day. When we wake up, his kisses are lazy and happy. When he kissed me at the truck stop, it was like I was alive solely to give him life and he was angry that his life source was gone for more than twenty-four hours. This kiss, this kiss is desperate and furious. He's reminding me why it's always been him and will always be him.

We stumble to his room, clothing being ripped along the way. Thank goodness no one is allowed upstairs, but I highly doubt that'd stop us. I'm sure to have a bruise on my back from a doorknob I hit along the way…around when I lost my shirt. My backpack is somewhere around here, tossed with the need to use both hands.

I'm standing in a bra and panties in the middle of his room, while he hovers over me in black boxer briefs. His large hands, rough from boxing and working on his cars, cups my jaw and tilts it slightly so I'm forced to look in his eyes. He doesn't need to say it because it's all there. Those crystalline irises are full of everything he can't say. As his life source, it's my responsibility to translate.

"I love you," I utter in a whisper, but it's as sure as anything I've ever said.

The pads of his thumbs wipe the tears from my eyes.

"I love you," I say, more assuredly than before.

Something flashed in his eyes. Something like hope but it's gone when he places his lips on mine. He treats me like I am glass, and my words will break and cut both of us if not treated with care. While cupping the back of my head with his left hand, his fingers run from my cheekbones, above my brow, around my eyes, down the slope of my nose, and traces the curve of my lips.

But he doesn't kiss me, which is what I want. Instead, he takes a slight step, dropping the hand cupping my neck to my shoulder, and continues the memorization of my body. Down my neck, over my clavicle, to the slope of my breasts. When the fabric of my bra hinders his pursuit, he gently reaches around to my back, unhooks my bra, and guides the straps off my shoulders with such care, one would think the bra is worth a million dollars, but by the way, the bra is tossed to the floor, I know that's not what he was thinking.

His knuckle grazes the slope of my breast, and when my nipple puckers beneath his touch, and I emit a light moan, he doesn't stop his slow and methodical path beneath my breasts, down the lines of my abdomen. I feel his breath on my skin, so close to where I want his mouth and I tell him so. Instead of doing as I ask, he stops, steps back, and starts all over again behind me. His fingers brush through my hair and sweep the locks over my shoulder so he has complete access to my back. He runs his fingers along my shoulder blades, down my arms, pausing over my almost healed wound, down my spine.

I am panting, cool sweat blooms on my skin, but he continues his possession. When his fingers glide down the curve of my side and reaches my hips, he softly pulls at the lace band of my panties and glides them down my legs. On his knees, he taps my foot, indicating I'm to step out of my panties and I do because I don't want to stop whatever this is. I feel like I am being treasured and worshipped and though it is driving me insane, it makes me feel safe. Like he's preserving his place in my heart.

On his knees, his fingers lightly touch the swell of my ass, the lines of muscles in my legs, around my knees, to my toes. I stand before him, naked and he looks at me like I am art and he is the artist. "I love you," I say again because it needs to be said. The words need to permeate the air around us and cocoon us in.

His lips replaced his fingers, from my ankles to my calves, to the scar on my knee from falling off my bike when I was ten, to the apex of my thigh. I rest my hands on his shoulders when he worships that part of me. His tongue languidly runs along my slit and then his lips seal around my clit. His tongue traces around the outside of my clit, and I come with a whimper of pain, and then a flush of pleasure. Tears slide down my cheeks and onto his head. Then he starts all over again, eating me out while I stand helplessly before him. Damon on his knees, a sight I didn't think I'd ever see like this.

When I come a second time, he stands, swiftly carries me in his arms, and lays me in the middle of his bed. Hovering over me, he licks the tears off my face before kissing my lips. I open my mouth to him and he devours me. My hands trail down his muscular back and reach into his tented briefs. "I want you," I moan into his shoulder as he trails kisses down my neck.

Damon moves away from me to take off his briefs and then is flush against my body, continuing the licking, sucking, and kissing. His lips seal around my breast. I am crying at this point, screaming for more. More something. He knows I know, but he isn't giving it to me or either of us. He's taking his time and I love it as much as I hate it.

He moves to his haunches, his glorious cock jutting out, ready for me. But he isn't. Damon's pale blue irises memorize the sight before him, me splayed on his bed, flushed from head to foot. Bruised where he marked me along my breasts and neck. He moves my legs so their spread wider for him and then, he leans over and with one hand above my head to brace himself, he enters me, painfully slow, only moving when I've adjusted to him. His mouth pressed against mine as he rocks into me in long languid strokes and I bow to him. He's worshiping me but I'd die for him.

"Say it," he orders, his voice thick with need, uttering the first words he's said all night.

"I love you."

He swallows my words with his lips, consuming every part of me. My legs wrap around his waist and when he comes with a shout, I come with him. His head buries in my neck as we ride out our orgasms. We can't get close enough. Skin pressed to skin, we're holding on for dear life.

I know what this is. By the way, he continues to press his lips to my pulse point, he does too. We made love. We've fucked. We've had sex. We've messed around, but it's never felt like this.

We stay like that, sticky with sweat, pressed together. "I'm sorry," I try to explain. "I should've listened to you in Florida. I should've fought for you…for us. I want to stay and fight with you, we can figure this all out together. I know it."

Then, like a flip switched, he chuckles. "You're so easy," he says, removing himself from me and getting off the bed. That's when I notice the condom he's removing. He's never worn a condom with me, I didn't even notice him putting it on.

"What do you mean,_ I'm so easy_?"

He ties up the condom and tosses it in a bin. "I thought it'd take at least six months to get you to say you love me, but two is pretty good. I'd almost given up, but then you came tonight."

I'm so confused. "What are you talking about?"

He puts his briefs back on, then tosses my bra and underwear at me. "You think I forgave you? After what you did?"

"Damon…"

"You told the police Stefan got the drugs from me. I was in rehab because of you and missed my brother's funeral. If your family had never entered my life, Stefan would be alive and I would be happy," he explains but his voice doesn't sound like his, it's darker more vindictive.

"We talked about that. I apologized a thousand times and will still apologize. I'm sorry. I am so sorry for what I said." I'm crying, this isn't Damon. This isn't the guy I just told I love.

"You think I forgave you? I was using you. You're a good lay, Elena, there's no doubt about that. Thought I might as well go along for the ride and use you to get to Domenico Moretti."

"Why?"

"There are two things I hate in this world. My father and you," he says, bitterness in every syllable. "Didn't you notice that when Domenico Moretti entered your life is when things started between us? Thanks to you, I was able to make a deal that will kill my father. I won't just be the King of Darkness of Mystic Falls High School, I'll own the town, with a little patience, of course. The Founding Families Council will be obliterated. I didn't need much patience with you. Get Elena Gilbert to love me and use her to get to Moretti."

"This doesn't make any sense! You picked me up after _that _night in the cabin. You took care of me. You helped me get back at Chase, Noah, and Frederick."

"Those fuckers went against my plans. I told them specifically not to touch you and they did. They defied me and I had to show them and everyone else what happens when you go against Damon Salvatore."

This doesn't sound like him.

"You hired bodyguards for me."

"To keep tabs on you. I thought you'd figure it out."

Yes, what he's saying lines up but it's not him. He's not like that. Damon's never gone that far. Even when he filmed me stripping, he could've done worse. He could've easily taken advantage but he didn't.

"You helped me win the trial with the video," I argue.

I put on my panties and bra, chasing after him while he puts on jeans and a shirt. "I knew," he admits.

"Knew what?"

"I saw the security footage the night of my going away party in August. I saw Noah assault you and I saw you run out in distress. I had the evidence you needed the entire time, but do you know why I withheld it?"

"Why?" I breathe, feeling like I've been strangled.

"Emotional impact. Wait until the right moment to release the footage and what did you do that evening?"

We kissed. I let him kiss me in the rain. That was when I started trusting him again. Not only that but by showing that video, he gave Noah the middle finger.

"I don't believe you," I say.

"You don't want to believe me," he retorts.

"So this was all a manipulation. This was all a game to you."

"It wasn't all a game. I got to know my competition and now I get to get rid of you, a constant reminder that my brother is dead," he states. "Everyone leaves you, Elena. Both of your moms abandoned you. Your biological family doesn't even want you. Moretti told me the Russos want to kill you. He said your own father wants you married off to some evil freak, he hates you so much. He probably blames you for Isabella's death and he should. How many people have to die around you for you to see that you are poison?"

Breath catches in my throat. Damon tosses me my jeans and shirt, both smacking me in the head. "You're pushing me away," I yell. "You feel something and now that there's a bump in the road, you're pushing me away so you don't get hurt. You're lying!"

"Bump in the road?" He laughs. "I was so sick of you in Florida, I took a private jet home. I thought that'd be a big enough hint, but then you wouldn't stop fucking calling me."

He leaves the room while I put on my shirt and jeans then comes back with my backpack. "Did you not hear me earlier?" He repeats, leaving the room and expecting me to follow. "I knew about Noah before I left for rehab. I don't love you, Elena."

Tears are streaming down my face. He's saying words and I'm not hearing them. I can't get past the fact that we made love and now he's laughing in my face. I keep picturing the flip. One minute he was kissing me like I was something precious to him and the next he's taking off his condom and dumping it in the waste bin. "You slept with someone else…"

He turns and cocks an eyebrow. "You were shacking up with Reyes, someone had to keep my dick wet. I have needs, you know."  
I'm going to puke.

I blindly follow him, trying to figure out what's going on. He's my plan A. He's been there for me, took care of me after the cabin, set up the video so it played at the trial, found me in Florida, and drove with me to Miami. The party to get rid of the drugs was all him. None of this adds up.

Before I know it, we're at the top of the staircase. "Didn't anyone tell you, Elena?" He announces to the rest of the party below, who starts cheering. "This is your going away party."

The video of me stripping at the Dancing Pony plays simultaneously on several projectors. The blowup doll that's supposed to look like me with slurs all over it is pinned to the wall. People line up to write more. _Bye, Bye, Bye_ by N*sync plays over the loudspeakers while some of the girls jokingly dance to it. Near the top of the staircase, Damon opens up a box and tosses flyers into the crowd. People pick it up, read it, and laugh. He marches down the staircase and picks up a microphone stationed near the projector.

Damon speaks over the music. "The last of the Gilberts are leaving Mystic Falls once and for all." Everyone in the crowd cheers. I reach down and pick up the flyer. It's the page that went missing months ago from the journal Damon and I shared for English class. The one I wrote about hand porn.

My cheeks flame and I feel more hot tears begin to flow down my face. This was for him, just between us. It was supposed to be a joke and now it's being used to turn me into a joke.

Wearing her cheer uniform, Jessica sidles up next to Damon and wraps an arm around him. He leans over and kisses her with a disgusting amount of tongue and it's all I need. With my backpack over my shoulders, I walk out the front door to shouts reciting the words I wrote and people telling me to never come back.

I don't plan on it.

Just before I close the door, I hear Damon tell someone to take that fucking doll off the wall. He didn't authorize that.

Someone pushes me out the door, slams it behind me, and I fall to my knees. Just what I need. I stand on my own two feet and start running down the drive until I get to the street and start to walk. I look at the moon and then search for the North Star. I can count on that, the moon keeping me company on these lonely nights- just as it did when I ran in the early hours of the morning. The North Star gives me direction; it's time to grow up and attempt Plan B.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Elena

I rely on the cool air to remind me that I'm alive. I have to keep going to stay warm. I have to keep walking to get to my destination. Move forward. That's all I can do. One foot in front of the other.

I ignore the honks as cars pass and the one that pulls up next to me doesn't bother me. The only thing that keeps me going forward is the fact that I will freeze if I stop.

"Elena?"

I turn to see Giuseppe, driving a black BMW with the window rolled down. "Get in."

With no other option, I slide into the passenger seat and shut the door. "You're crying," he observes. I wipe my eyes and ignoring him. "You look dead on your feet, Elena. I'm taking you to get a bite to eat."

I let him. I don't even argue. I let Giuseppe Salvatore drive me to an undisclosed location. Should I tell him to just take me back to Marco? Plan A is Damon but right now, Plan B scares the shit out of me.

"I was hoping to run into you," he says. "I thought you'd be at the mansion, but saw that Damon was having one of his parties."

I nod and lean my head against the cold window, looking for the moon. The nights have gotten colder and darker. I didn't bring a jacket but I but the sting of chill feels good. It feels tangible. We drive in silence until we get to one of his hotels. I don't even question it. The valet opens the door for me and I get out of the car and follow Giuseppe through the hotel and to a restaurant. Giuseppe is seated right away, which I'm not surprised about because it is his hotel.

He orders food while I sit numbly, watching the black baby-grand piano being played by a person with too much talent for a hotel restaurant. "I'll cut to the chase," Giuseppe says, drawing my attention back to him. "Grayson set up a trust fund in your name. The money is actually from Isabella, she gave it to Grayson to invest, who rightfully so, gave it to me to invest. Grayson's always been horrible with money."

I glare at him. "I don't want it."

He looks unperturbed. "Nonetheless, it's in a Swiss bank account under your name. You'll be able to access it when you turn eighteen. Use it for college or to buy a house, I don't care. It's yours."

I glare at him. He neglected his eldest son who turned into a horrible person. "You know I'm not eighteen?"

"Of course I do, it was my idea. I thought if you were in the same grade as Damon, he'd protect you."

I laugh, it's a maniacal and unrecognizable sound. Damon's never cared about me, he proved that tonight. Giuseppe gives me a worried look.

"I know."

"What do you know, Elena?"

"You lied," I state. "Where do I start? You and Grayson faked my death and blamed it on Domenico Moretti. Grayson took me and raised me with his psycho wife who always hated me. The Founding Families turned their backs on Grayson and me. They helped fake my death and hid me but where were they when I was the one paying bills and rent? When I had to sell family heirlooms to get groceries. When Miranda decided to whore herself out and sell information on me? My biological families are crazy. One wants me dead, the other wants me married off to form an alliance. Yeah, you lied Giuseppe because you promised Isabella you'd take care of me and you didn't. You loved her and you forgot about her daughter."

I stand up to leave, so done with the Salvatore family. "Elena, wait. Sit down."

I sit down because Giuseppe has a tone of voice that demands attention. "You're right, I lied." I stop and turn around. "I've lied so often the truth has become distorted. I loved your mom, Isabella. She was a dynamic person, the only person I trusted."

"She was never friends with Lily, was she? You made it seem like you knew her through Lily, but Lily passed away before you met my mother," I explain. "What really happened to Isabella?"

"She ran away from her family and I kept her safe for a time. I'd visit her often, sometimes too often, I think Damon noticed. She visited me at the house, desperate to see you. She knew that being in your life was a risk she couldn't take, but she felt guilty not being there for you after everything your family went through, especially after Jeremy died. When she visited the house, we made plans to introduce her as my friend."

"Your girlfriend," I correct. "That was the day Luciana saw Isabella wearing a towel and thought it was me."

He nods, confirming the new story- the accurate story. "I hated firing Luciana for that. You do look so much like your mother."

"What happened? Why didn't I meet my own mother?"

"You have to understand, if anyone saw you and your mother, they'd put two and two together. You'd be dead, Elena. Your mother only ever tried to protect you. We arranged a run in, just so she could see and hear you in person. But she was being followed and the day she visited me at the mansion, she got into a car accident on the way back to a safe house and died."

"You lied about her dying of cancer and there's no such thing as an accident in my life. Who arranged her death?"

"The man she was supposed to marry, Domenico Moretti."

The man Damon's working with. Do I tell Giuseppe? Or is he part of the arrangement, somehow his contempt for Moretti convinces me he wants nothing to do with him.

"Then Miranda sold information on me and Moretti realized he had the perfect pawn living in Mystic Falls, under his nose."

I haven't touched the food before me. I don't want to. "Did you love my mom?"

He looks like he's in pain, and he doesn't touch his food either. "Very much. I wish you could've known her."

Giuseppe reaches into his briefcase and hands me two thick manilla envelopes tied together with twine. "I wish I could've helped her more than I was able to. Your mother was trapped between two worlds and locked away for so much of her life, she didn't want that for you. In the end, I failed her. In many ways, I locked her away just like everyone else. I wish I could help you, but maybe this is a start."

I put the envelopes in my backpack. "Thanks, Giuseppe," I stand up and pause before leaving. I have to say something, even if it won't matter. "Damon may be eighteen, but he still needs a father. Don't give up on him."

He clears his throat uncomfortably, reaches into his jacket pocket, and slides me a room key. "It's late. I always have a few rooms available for friends and family in my hotels, stay here tonight and give me a call in the morning. I'll help you with whatever you need."

Except I need to leave and I can't with Giovanni, Russo, Reyes, and Moretti after me. I take the key and leave, knowing I won't ask Damon's father for help. He kept my mom from me when I had no one. In my opinion, he's almost as bad as Damon. I do take him up on the offer of using one of the rooms in his hotel.

I glance at the room number written on the white envelope with the hotel's emblem on it and make my way upstairs, too tired to bother checking if I'm followed. If someone wants to kill me or take me, now's the time. I literally have no fight left. Which is why when I open the door to my suite and lock it behind me, I plop on the bed and take out one of the burner phones and a piece of scratch paper with Uncle John's number on it.

I dial and pray he answers. "Hello?" He answers in that familiar voice.

I lay back on the bed and sob. Just the familiarity of that voice, the comfort it brings. "Uncle John?"

"Elena? Are you okay?"

Everything that's happened tonight comes flooding back. Something special happened between Damon and me tonight and then I realized it was all a joke. He really does hate me for everything and used me. It still doesn't add up but the truth of the matter is, he's not here. I said I loved him. Repeated it. And he doesn't return the sentiment. Actually, quite the opposite is true. "I need to get out of the country," I sob.

"You know?"

"About my real parents, about Grayson…yeah, I know."

"The families know you're alive?"

"Yes."

He curses. "It's going to be impossible getting you out of the country. They'll have feds ready to pick you up at the airport, but we can try. I need to make some phone calls and I'll get back to you. This is a burner, right?"

"Yeah."

"Elena, where are you?"

"Giuseppe got me a room."

"Giuseppe?" Uncle John curses again. "I don't trust him, but stay where you're at. Make sure all doors are locked and don't answer to anyone. I'm going to contact some people. Be ready to leave within the hour."

"Okay."

He hangs up. I make sure the ringer is on before opening the manilla envelopes. One is my letters, the ones my dad wrote to me. The tear-stained pages written in his handwriting. How did Giuseppe get these? With them is my birth certificate and death certificate, along with pictures of me and my mom, my real mom. Some of the pictures weren't on the drive Domenico gave me. One is of me and Antonio Giovanni. We're in a pool, I'm wearing a purple swimsuit with white polka dots on it and I have pink floaties on my arms. I'm probably two or three in the picture. Antonio has a big smile on his face, holding me around the middle making sure I don't drown while floating in the water. He seems…happy. Genuinely so.

The man in this picture and the man that I heard about are two very different people. Although, he did protect Isabella and was happy when I was born. Happy he was having a daughter. I was taken away from him, so what if everyone is wrong about Antonio Giovanni's intentions?

I don't have the bandwidth to really think about that right now, so I place all the items back in the envelope. I pick the other envelope up, open it, and dump the contents onto the bed. Passports, several of them and they look authentic. Unlike the one Domenico gave me before I left for Miami, these are official. They each have my picture, the only difference is that the names are different. A French passport with the name Phoebe Moreau. A British passport with the name Monica Allen. A U.S. passport, one with my real name, Viviana Elena Giovanni, and the other Rachel James.

Monica, Rachel, Phoebe? I want to laugh but it's too painful. Not only that, but there are birth certificates that will help with employment and benefits. There's a note from Giuseppe with the account number for the Swiss bank account, with his phone number. Then there's another note, the name of the Olympic trainer I met at my last meet and his phone number. Then there's cash, thousands upon thousands of dollars in various currency.

And then…

I almost fall off the bed. I drop everything and glare at it.

The composition book. What does this mean? I don't touch it, I don't open it. I just look at it. My name is on the cover and underneath it, Damon wrote, King of Darkness, which I had crossed out king and written prince. The names from Friends on the passports. The composition book. The Olympic trainer's contact information. Damon doesn't want me to hate him.

Too late.

I want to throw the notebook away, but I refrain from doing so. Instead, I put everything back in the envelopes and back in the backpack. I stand up and go to the bathroom to wash my face and I use a disposable toothbrush to brush my teeth and rinse out my mouth with mouthwash. I dig in my bag, trying to find something to wear, so I can throw away this wretched shirt and every memory having to do with earlier tonight when it was peeled off of me.

Except, I don't have clothes because I was expecting Plan A to work out, but it didn't. I have clothes at Damon's so I didn't think about packing extra. Plan A was supposed to work. Dammit. I want to scream. I want to run a marathon. I want to get out of this effing town and never look back.

The burner phone rings and I answer right away. "You're in luck, Elena. According to my contacts at the DOJ, everyone is off for the Thanksgiving holiday. This is rare, usually, Giovanni would have one of his men watching but it looks like if you leave out of Richmond, you'll be fine. You shouldn't have any trouble getting through TSA once I get you a passport."

"I have a passport, a few actually."

"Really?" He seems genuinely interested. It's the con in him, always looking for another contact. Another source. Before he can ask who made it, I tell him. "Giuseppe took care of it."

I hear a sarcastic grunt. "Of course he did."

I forgot that Uncle John hates Giuseppe Salvatore. I'll have to ask him about it sometime, but it probably has to do with Grayson's friendship with Giuseppe and all the trouble it caused. I guess I'm part of that "trouble".

"I checked, they're official-looking with all the right markings, just like you taught me. Even has my real picture on it."

"Good," he says. "Well, that makes everything easier. You're at the Salvatore place, on Ocean?

"Yeah."

"Taxicab number 3647 is going to pick you up at the valet in seven minutes. Only get into that cab. The driver is going to hand you a plane ticket and take you to a SuperShuttle pickup spot that will take you to the airport. Remember everything I taught you. Ditch this burner phone, be aware of your surroundings, and call if there's an emergency. This number will only be active for another twelve hours, enough time to get you on that plane. I'll get a message to you. Be aware and trust your gut. I'm sorry you didn't get to make it to your eighteenth birthday. That's when Grayson and I were planning on telling you."

"Uncle John, Grayson…"

"I know, sweetie. I know."

God. More tears fall and I don't know if I can do this. I just want to sleep for the next decade.

"Elena, hang in there."

"Okay."

"What did I always teach you?"

"Trust my gut, don't let my guard down, and always have an exit strategy."

"Good. I'll be in touch."

Damon

I walk along the middle of the road, following the path of the white lines like a tight rope. One foot in front of the other, walking the line between a forest of trees. Midnight fog obscures my vision, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. I take a sip of the bottle of bourbon I've been emptying since I drove my car in a ditch.

Is my life even worth living anymore? Doubtful.

I stop my stride, lay in the middle of the road, and stare at the moon. I wonder if she's looking up at the moon right now. She always liked to do that when we drove. She didn't know I was watching but I was always watching. No matter where she was, she tried to find the moon, then the North star. She did it when we were driving in Florida. She did it when we returned from dinner. She'd lean her head against the window and look up. God, I'd do anything to have those moments back.

Headlights blind my vision, but I remain unmoved. Fuckers can run me over for all I care. The shit on four wheels Prius pulls over, no surprise when a girl runs out wanting to help me. "Are you okay?"

She's hysterical and needs to calm the fuck down.

"I'm fine," I mutter, taking another sip of bourbon, realizing it's empty I toss it off the side of the road against a tree and watch the glass shatter. Little Miss Prius jumps and heads back to her car.

"Stop!" I shout.

She actually stops.

"I hurt so bad," I slur. "So bad. Just stay for a little moment and I'll pay you." I reach into my pants pocket and pull out my money clip and toss it to her.

She catches it and fans through the money. "There has to be over three grand."

"Good." I point to my nose and point to her. "She can do math."

She put the money in her jacket pocket, looks both ways, walks to the middle of the road, and sits next to me. I take out my emergency flask, take a swig, and offer her a sip. She wisely declines.

"Why do you hurt?"

I sigh heavily and take another swig. "I love her and I didn't get to say it."

"Why?"

"To protect."

"Protect who?"

"Both of us."

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

"Shakespeare is a hack," I explain. "Lysander knew jack shit about love."

"Even drunk he knows Shakespeare," she mutters, surprised.

"I'm a functional drunk," I say after taking another swig of my flask.

"I quoted _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ because the play is all about the rough journey love takes. If she's your true love, then maybe your journey isn't over."

Fucking Prius people.

"Why am I talking to you? I want my money back."

She laughs and leans back on her palms. "You're the one lying in the middle of the road."

"True," I mutter. "But my journey with 'lena is very over."

"Did she leave?"

"Hopefully for good. I had to hurt her so I could protect her."

"Ah," she takes the flask out of my hand and takes a sip. "That's quite a pickle."

Who is this chick? I lean over and look at her plates. Minnesota: 'The friendly state'. Makes sense.

I look back up at the full moon and suddenly have a vision of a very bleak future. "I'm lost."

"Lying in the middle of the road?"

I scoff. "Not literally, metaphorically."

"It won't always be that way. I'm sure if you just spoke to her…"

I stand so fast, she yelps. "Don't you get it? It's over!" I shout, tossing the flask in the same direction as the bourbon bottle. "She's gone and now I have to do things she wouldn't like, things that will make her hate me forever."

She scoots back until she can stand, she's crying and I don't feel bad in the slightest. "Who are you protecting her from?"

"Me."

Elena

If I hadn't been checking the cars behind us in the hope that Damon would find me, I would never have noticed the caravan of black Escalades following us. It's pathetic that I was looking, I know. I duck below the seats and cover myself with my backpack. "Do you see the cars behind us?"

Al grunts. A man of few words, this one.

I feel the car pick up speed, hear cars honk, and fall over when the taxi takes a sharp turn. Al is old enough to be my grandfather but drives like he's from the Fast and the Furious. It's quiet for a moment and I almost move to look out the window when I hear gunshots. I duck back down, but peak from behind the front seat. Al runs a couple of red lights in a row and swerves around a sixteen wheeler. He's graceful when he does it; doesn't even break a sweat. It's quiet for a few minutes and I'm about to sit back up when Al tells me to get back down.

We drive like that, me sitting on the floor of the taxi while he drives for another forty minutes. "We're here," he says in a Russian accent so thick, it sounds like ve'er. "There was a change of plans."

I almost fall out of the car when he opens up my door, but he kindly gives me a hand helping me out. I expected to be at the airport, but instead, I'm in a lot with hundreds of taxi cars. "Dis is Ivan."

Ivan, a burly man with a missing front tooth and a wirey grey beard with bits of auburn, hands me a ticket. I look at it and look back at Ivan. "You can't be serious."

Uncle John has got to be shitting me. "Miami?" I screech.

"He said to remind you of what he taught you."

I roll my eyes. Hide in plain sight. It's what he's been doing while hiding from the U.S. government for reasons I still don't know.

"There will be more instructions when you get there. Come, I'm taking you to the airport."

I thank Al for his skillful driving and follow Ivan to another taxi. "How do you know John?"

"Did me a favor a decade ago," he replies.

"What was the favor?"

"Introduced me to my second wife."

Huh.

This drive goes more smoothly, except we aren't going to the Richmond airport, we're backtracking and going to Raleigh. It doesn't take long for me to doze off.

Ivan wakes me up a couple of hours later and helps me out of the car. People all around me say their goodbyes while sending off loved ones. Businessmen and women leave Ubers, and walk with purpose carrying compact shiny roller suitcases into the airport. The sky has started to blaze purple over the horizon and I know this is it. This part of my life is over.

I take out the passport that matches the name on my ticket, thank Ivan for his help and walk through the electronic sliding glass doors. I stand in line at security behind a young couple holding hands. They kiss sweetly before splitting up to go through two separate metal detectors.

I'm not even sad as I watch them because why be sad about something that will never happen. There's a disconnect. They have what they deserve. They're probably going to one of their supportive and loving family members' home for Thanksgiving dinner. They deserve normal. They deserve happiness.

I know that now as sure as I know anything. I used to think karma was a bitch, now I know that karma can bring peace because there's peace in the knowledge that life doesn't give you what you want if you don't deserve it. Love, normalcy, and happiness are things I now accept not having. Damon Salvatore taught me that, and I'll never forget that lesson.

**End of Part One**

Author's Note: Because this is the end of part one, I wanted to put my author's note at the end of the chapter. As I have mentioned earlier, I never intended for Damon and Elena's love story to start and end when they're teens. I have more respect for them than that. Damon is being arrogant and stupid and in many ways, Elena is being arrogant and stupid. It isn't until chapter 31 that she admits that she needs someone else. She needed Damon. It was easy for her to accept help from other people because they meant nothing to her, Damon however, does and therefore has the power to hurt her, which he did to get her to leave town. It isn't until she's at her lowest, and is looking at all of her options, that she realizes she needs the one person who knows her best. Unfortunately, the timing sucks and Damon made a deal with the devil to help her get out of the country safely. Though, I'll tell you through this note that his original intention was to have his dad get her out of town. If you remember, he couldn't find Uncle John- Elena did. I wanted this story to have consequences. We all want Elena to win gold at the Olympics and marry Damon and have his babies and live happily ever after, but that's not her reality. She comes from a much darker world that she'll slowly be exposed to. She comes from a family that has let her down, time and time again. One side wants to kill her and the other sees her as a pawn that can help them move further in a quest for power. Her journey is going to be difficult and I'm not just talking about her physical journey. Emotionally, she's fucked up and with her anchor gone and everything she knows (Mystic Falls) gone, in part 2, Elena's very much going to be the product of that neglect and abuse. Likewise, Damon gave up the only person he's ever cared about, aside from his younger brother, to protect her. His anger manifests in a very different way in part 2. I really hope you enjoyed part 1...the first chapter of part 2 will be ready soon.


End file.
